Death to the Scale

It's amazing how one simple movement, or rather action can bring reality to smack you in the face. And not a little pat, pat on the cheek....more like Wipeout on ABC - hit smack in the face, the back and probably all the jiggly parts with a big red squishy 2x4.

The reality smack down happened at the doctors office, of course.

I'm pretty sure in every one's head, except of course for the ridiculously skinny, is the death march while the nurse so happily says, "Let's step up on the scale."

I think they somehow take pleasure in seeing the deer in headlights look on their patients faces. Lady, I'm just here for medications - I don't need that number lingering over my head - mostly because I know I'll just eat my feelings later.

But I did it - and of course I told her my shoes weighed 10 lbs, so I should take them off...um...I should have kept them on. Dumb. So the scale moved...and not in a good way.  Immediately I thought of all the things I had not or had done before the appointment: eaten breakfast, not gone to the bathroom (pee...gross...only pee), worn extra layers....and of course eaten my way through the state of Missouri and my mom's house.

Ugh.

Of course, while on the scale, there is the announcement of what the number is. Again, I think it's a game for them. Instead of a quiet whisper like every other woman would want, it's a game to see who can be the loudest whisperer. And then lead you back to the exam room in a walk of shame style.

So sitting in the room waiting had me back to the drawing board. I guess I'm going to need people to slap my hand away from my fork, or going back for seconds. And of course exercise, which started again tonight: with Tyson....we both need some work.

So while most people hate going to the dentist, I hate going to the doctor. But at least the dentist doesn't require your weight.