Dude, Where’s My Scale?
- August 31st, 2004
Last night, my best friend stole my scale. About a month ago, I mentioned that I was starting to become number-obsessed, worrying about gains and losses of absolutely minute amounts and that I thought it might be preventing me from moving ahead in my weight-loss and fitness goals. A month ago, I said that. Of course, since then, I’ve kind of moved past that, but it didn’t stop Ali from stealing my scale. She just… took it. I protested, but she would have none of it.
Bitch took my scale. I had no idea I was going to have such an issue with it, either. I mean, at the time she was walking out the door with it and I tried to gently persuade her to not take it, I was actually having a tremendous amount of anxiety inside. In my head it was, “NO! NO YOU CAN’T TAKE MY SCALE! How will I know? How will I judge? How can I properly celebrate or, alternately, flog myself every Monday morning if you take my scale?!?!?” But it came out more like, “Seriously, dude, I wish you wouldn’t.” But, she did.
I didn’t realize how dependent I had become on it until now. Hello, my name is Joelle and I’m a weighaholic. Light my candle.
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