The scale has always been my enemy. Throwing numbers at me but no solutions. I thought we had reached an understanding and maybe a friendship recently. I worked hard to lose weight, it showed me what I wanted to see. Today, it went too far.
Me: I hope that low calorie taco hasn't made me retain water. It DID have a lot of sodium.
Scale: *You are 4 pounds fatter (*translated)
Me: Four pounds in 3 days from a little salt? That's not right. I'll try again.
Scale: *Fine, I'll lie to you since you can't handle the truth. You lost 20 pounds. Happy?
Me: Dang it. I think this thing is broken. One last try.
Scale: *You're calling me broken? Fine. You gained 16 pounds now heifer. Hope you're happy.
Me: I hate this scale. It hurts my feelings.
Husband: Want me to break it as punishment for hurting your feelings and then get you a new one?
Me: Yes please. Maybe one that's not so honest.
Moral of the story: If you can't beat the scale, break it.
So here's what my shiny new scale looks like:
Disclaimer: That is NOT my weight.
In other, less confrontational news:
See that? That's a huge chunk of pineapple being roasted and thus caramelized in a rotisserie. Just over 200 calories for the whole fruit. That's tonight's dinner and I'm thrilled to be using my "new" rotisserie. I put new in quotes because it's new to me but not necessarily new itself. There is a story there but it'll have to wait for another day. It would take WAY too long to explain about my husband's magical storage room under the stairs.