Weigh UP
I don't know if you are like me, but I hate scales. I am not talking about piano scales (although they're not high on my list of things I like to do either). I am talking about weigh scales.
When we got married, some loving, solicitous soul gave us a set of weigh scales as a wedding present. I don't really know if it was a gift with a message for us. I kind of wonder if they were on their way to the wedding and remembered they'd forgotten a gift. Perhaps they made a quick stop at Canadian Tire to pick up the first thing they could grab at the front of the store, before they went on to our wedding. (I guess it's better than motor oil...but only slightly)
I can picture those scales now. They were white and had some sort of fake vinyl on the top as if that would soothe the weigh-ee into feeling more comfortable about using it. The dial would flutter wildly when you stepped on it before settling down to a rough estimate of your weight. The white scale was not accurate. It would tell you lovely things one day and dash your confidence the next without a thought about your emotional well being.
On the good days, I walked a little taller, glanced at myself sideways in the window more often and wondered if everyone else could see the good news the scale had revealed. On the bad days, stepping on the scale drove me straight to the fridge where I would stare blankly, hoping to find something to accompany my weigh-in lament. "I think I'll have that last half of the ice cream cake. The number was too high today. I might as well try and be the number."
About six years into our marriage, I made a big decision. "Enough of this", I thought. Out with the scale. In with a new philosophy. I now "weighed" myself by my clothes. If they fit, I was o.k. If they got tight, it was time to pay attention to just how much of that food I was going to enjoy.
Sometimes my husband and I would discuss the weigh scales. He wondered intermittently what had happened to the white scales. At first I didn't 'fess up. I tried to make him believe that we'd never had such a thing in the first place. But then, I had to tell him. He shook his head at me but never said another word about it.
Last year we went to Disneyland. On the way through to customs, there was a professional weigh scale. Grampa wanted everyone to get on. Nana and I refused. We pleaded the 5th. Or whatever ammendment it was that would keep us off the scale. The others indulged Grampa's curiosity. My husband was a little shocked to see his number. I guess middle age had caught up to him.
When we returned home, he requested we get a scale so he could keep better track. So I broke down. Yes I did. I went out and bought a new scale. It's a techno-scale - glass and brushed metal. It has a digital read out which appears once you've stood on it for a few seconds. The "final tally" is flashed three times at you before it settles at your weight for the day. It is a sleek looking number. I guess it's supposed to inspire the weigh-ee to become sleek too.
When I bought it, I purposed NEVER to step foot on that thing. This scale was only for my husband to use. He doesn't get depressed if the numbers go up and down. I had my own system , thank you very much, and I was not about to change.
The scale, however, had different ideas. It would give me a little shout out every time I step foot in the bathroom. "Hey, how ya doin?" it would say. "What's up? - Hope it's not your weight" it would call out when I walked in the door. Yep, it was a very friendly and persistent little scale. I tried to ignore it. I really did. But it finally won.
One day, I decided that I would step on it "just this once". In order to ease the shock, I made a verbal guess as to the number would be. I stepped on and waited for the digital numbers to appear. To my complete amazement, the numbers read out 1o pounds lighter than I had guessed. I thought "well, that wasn't so bad. I feel pretty good about myself...in fact....next time, I'll guess 15 pounds more and then I will feel even better!"
Ever since then, the scale and I have had a civil, but cagey relationship. I try not to pay it no never mind. I don't want it to have that much control. I'm still pretty convinced that "if the clothes fit" technique is what works best for me. My husband uses it every day. He doesn't offer and I don't ask. We leave it at that.
What reminded me of all this was that today, I received this picture which instantly gave me immunity from the tyranny of the scale. I never have to be susceptible to the oppression that weighing myself leaves on my psyche. I will revel in this new freedom. From now on, this will be my method of weighing myself.
Now the only problem will be the scale at the Dr.'s office. But you know me! I love a challenge!
When we got married, some loving, solicitous soul gave us a set of weigh scales as a wedding present. I don't really know if it was a gift with a message for us. I kind of wonder if they were on their way to the wedding and remembered they'd forgotten a gift. Perhaps they made a quick stop at Canadian Tire to pick up the first thing they could grab at the front of the store, before they went on to our wedding. (I guess it's better than motor oil...but only slightly)
I can picture those scales now. They were white and had some sort of fake vinyl on the top as if that would soothe the weigh-ee into feeling more comfortable about using it. The dial would flutter wildly when you stepped on it before settling down to a rough estimate of your weight. The white scale was not accurate. It would tell you lovely things one day and dash your confidence the next without a thought about your emotional well being.
On the good days, I walked a little taller, glanced at myself sideways in the window more often and wondered if everyone else could see the good news the scale had revealed. On the bad days, stepping on the scale drove me straight to the fridge where I would stare blankly, hoping to find something to accompany my weigh-in lament. "I think I'll have that last half of the ice cream cake. The number was too high today. I might as well try and be the number."
About six years into our marriage, I made a big decision. "Enough of this", I thought. Out with the scale. In with a new philosophy. I now "weighed" myself by my clothes. If they fit, I was o.k. If they got tight, it was time to pay attention to just how much of that food I was going to enjoy.
Sometimes my husband and I would discuss the weigh scales. He wondered intermittently what had happened to the white scales. At first I didn't 'fess up. I tried to make him believe that we'd never had such a thing in the first place. But then, I had to tell him. He shook his head at me but never said another word about it.
Last year we went to Disneyland. On the way through to customs, there was a professional weigh scale. Grampa wanted everyone to get on. Nana and I refused. We pleaded the 5th. Or whatever ammendment it was that would keep us off the scale. The others indulged Grampa's curiosity. My husband was a little shocked to see his number. I guess middle age had caught up to him.
When we returned home, he requested we get a scale so he could keep better track. So I broke down. Yes I did. I went out and bought a new scale. It's a techno-scale - glass and brushed metal. It has a digital read out which appears once you've stood on it for a few seconds. The "final tally" is flashed three times at you before it settles at your weight for the day. It is a sleek looking number. I guess it's supposed to inspire the weigh-ee to become sleek too.
When I bought it, I purposed NEVER to step foot on that thing. This scale was only for my husband to use. He doesn't get depressed if the numbers go up and down. I had my own system , thank you very much, and I was not about to change.
The scale, however, had different ideas. It would give me a little shout out every time I step foot in the bathroom. "Hey, how ya doin?" it would say. "What's up? - Hope it's not your weight" it would call out when I walked in the door. Yep, it was a very friendly and persistent little scale. I tried to ignore it. I really did. But it finally won.
One day, I decided that I would step on it "just this once". In order to ease the shock, I made a verbal guess as to the number would be. I stepped on and waited for the digital numbers to appear. To my complete amazement, the numbers read out 1o pounds lighter than I had guessed. I thought "well, that wasn't so bad. I feel pretty good about myself...in fact....next time, I'll guess 15 pounds more and then I will feel even better!"
Ever since then, the scale and I have had a civil, but cagey relationship. I try not to pay it no never mind. I don't want it to have that much control. I'm still pretty convinced that "if the clothes fit" technique is what works best for me. My husband uses it every day. He doesn't offer and I don't ask. We leave it at that.
What reminded me of all this was that today, I received this picture which instantly gave me immunity from the tyranny of the scale. I never have to be susceptible to the oppression that weighing myself leaves on my psyche. I will revel in this new freedom. From now on, this will be my method of weighing myself.
Now the only problem will be the scale at the Dr.'s office. But you know me! I love a challenge!
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