I have to admit it. I have a love/hate relationship with my scale. It's not good. If I get on it and she rewards me with evidence of a loss, I'm HAPPY. I'f I get on it and she curses me with a gain, I'm GROUCHY. I knew this and I know this about myself. Yesterday I was feeling pretty positive. Blogging and thinking. I was actually thinking about throwing her in the trash. Complete with a funeral. Flowers, maybe lilies. Music, like amazing grace on the organ. A choir perhaps. I'd wear a black dress and a veil and then as soon as she hit the bottom of the can I'd cue up the Solid Gold Dancers. Or cheerleaders. Or step team. Maybe those tall flag girls from the high school football games. One of those. This idea arose primarily out of the notion that maybe, just maybe, I was putting just a teeny tiny little bit too much emphasis on the number on the scale. Just a teensy weensy bit. It was actually the Dep's idea but that is probably primarily because he is sick and tired of hearing me obsess about my "weight", that is to say, the actual number. I mean it's irrelevant anyway right? Hm.

But here's what happened. I've weighed 146 ish for a couple of weeks. It seems like I can get to 143 and then I have a long run or work out hard and whammo! 146. So maybe I ought to just quit paying attention to the number entirely? Right? I mean Ashley Tisdale doesn't even own a scale right? I know this cause she said so. She said it in Shape magazine, where she also referred to herself as "curvy". So you know she never lies. Cause she is SO "curvy". You know, in places where "curvy" is defined by weighing more than 110 pounds. Places like Hollywood. I was there last week at a concert. It was a fun time with my sister and we glammed up a little bit for the show. Or at least I was feeling pretty glam until I saw the other "glam" gals and suddenly felt not just 34 but about 74 with every wrinkle magnified to the same power it takes to see an atom. Anyway Ashley likes her body how it is and she doesn't even own a scale. And since I like to model my life after people who start in musicals about high school. Viola. There you go. I'm going to like mine too?

But then the unthinkable happened. I got on the scale yesterday and... dun dun dun. I weighed 143 again. Well sheesh. How can I hate her when she is being so kind to me. Forget that I'm dealing with fluctuation from bloat and ignore the fact that I had a little more than a little gin the night before (and you know alcohol dehydrates you, handy if you're trying to lose lose PMS pounds). So I love her again. She's my BFF and we're going out to lunch. But I mean were only going to have like three pieces of lettuce and some carrots. Then we're going shopping for skinny jeans. Really skinny ones. I agree to let her stay. PLUS I paid like some astronomical amount of money for that scale (even though it still says my body fat is like 45%) and I'm not one to literally throw cash in the trash so again. There you go.

Then today... I did my usual routine of the morning. Stretch Pee. Weigh. 147? What? Oops I forgot I was wearing my nightgown. Strip down. Weigh. 147!!! WHAT? I hate you scale. Maybe I didn't finish peeing. Nope I'm pretty sure I did. You evil evil liar. I'm not even going to throw you away I hate you so much. First I'm going to beat you with a hammer (and not a little one either). Then I'm going to douse you in bleach (cause it's the most harmful chemical I have in the house). Then I'm going to let the dog pee on you. She's always looking for a place to pee anyway so there! Now she has you. Then when that's all done. I'm going to pretend to throw you away, just so you'll think the torture is over but NO. I'm going to pull you out of the trash and weigh myself 17 times and every time I see the number I'm going to call you a nasty name. Like jerk. Or butthead. Or accurate.

Sigh.... the fact is it's the number. It shouldn't be but today proves that it is. Yesterday at 143 I was feeling encouraged and happy. Today... I'm the same person. My ultra low rise pants still fit (yeah I bought those by accident, people who have had three kids I don't think are necessarily meant for ultra low rise). The scale says 147. Maybe I weigh 147 or 143 or 145. But the fact is that the number is just that. A number. So for today I'll let her stay. But if she thinks we're going out to lunch she can just forget about it. I'm taking the kids for Mexican food and I'm going to eat a burrito cause I ran like 100 miles this week and I can calorically afford a stinkin burrito. So there you go.