2010_01_22 A Happy Scale Whore

As anyone in our sisterhood of Scale Whores Anonymous (SWA) knows, I'm the nut case who keeps track of her weight by writing it down on the bathroom mirror with a wipe-off board pen.

I have an antiquated bathroom scale that looks like it belongs in the Art Deco Revival era several decades ago, and I love it because of that beauty. I know it's not accurate, but I step on it anyway every day. (That's why there's an SWA-- we're compulsive about it.)

Last month, just before Christmas, when I stepped on the scale at the doctor's office, I got a nasty shock. Despite repeated attempts to be very good, I'd *gained* a pound. EEEK!

So, I was determined to get back on the wagon. I pulled out the old food journal and locked all the carb contraband out in the cabinet outside.

My scale said I lost. At one point it dipped down to 205 lbs, and my shriek of joy should have shattered the bathroom window. (Thank you, tempered glass.)

Still, I drove with butterflies in my stomach to the doctor's for my monthly weigh-in. Would his infinitely more accurate scales show how hard I'd been working? When my turn finally came, I stepped on the scale.

The nurse gasped.

My heart sank. I was doomed. Done in by that tangerine I had a week ago. *sob* One little cheat had cost me.

"OMG, Lena!! You've lost TEN pounds!" The nurse did a jig with me. Later, doc gave me a hug. I'm back on the road to One-der-Land, and I think I see it rising out of the mists in the distance.

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