Friday, 11 January 2013


I've actually got two ten-pound 
weights in my underwear!

I'm blaming this one on the planet. Because if it's even one brazillimetre off its axis, it throws the magnetics and the pulleys right off. Seriously. 
I know this for a fact because I was at the doctor's yesterday and I could not find one single set of scales that worked properly. Which has nothing to do with the mashed sweet potatoes and gravy I had for lunch.

But let me back up a bit. Cuz this isn't making sense even to me. 

I was at the doctor's yesterday having my virulent full-body rash treated. (If you believed that, I'm insulted.) Actually, I was there because I am pregnant with Javier Bardem's baby. (Distinctly possible.) Actually never mind why I was there, the point is that while they were playing musical rooms with me ("You can wait in Room 2. Now you can move to Room 3 and put on this gown. Now the doctor will see you . . . in Room 4") I stepped on the scales they leave there to test your blood pressure.

And holy crap, those numbers went higher than I've ever seen them.

I was so upset I left Room 3 WITHOUT PERMISSION and found another set of scales. Oddly, that one was off too. Perspiring heavily now, I moved on to yet another set of scales, the big, "accurate" ones with the slidey bar that supposedly nails your weight down to an eighth of an ounce. And damned if that one wasn't off too.

At that point, I did what any perfectly sane woman would do. I marched to the front desk and told the receptionist their scales were off. ALL of them.

"I've never weighed that much in my life!" I told her. 

And the dirty cow actually had the temerity to shrug and say, "Oh we all gained a few over Christmas."

So I am now shopping for a new doctor and my doctor is now shopping for a new receptionist because it's going to be a while before the old one gets her new teeth put in. And we are all going to have to stay away from scales of any kind until the planet corrects itself and tells me I weigh one hundred and, er, something. 

Editor's note:
Ahem. I hate to say it, but you do look a little . . .. healthier lately.
My note: Tonight I think I'll have some roast editor with my mashed sweet potatoes.