...Was wrong.
So my birthday gift was great. I mentioned it before. A digital scale that measures weight, body composition, fat, etc...
A nice scale.
It doesn't work for me.
Apparently, you have to stand statue still and if you shift your weight even a millimeter-it scrolls back and forth on numbers and just picks one at random.
Fuck.
So, what I thought was a 16 pound deficit-was not.
In an effort to gain understanding of a correct weight...I accompanied my hubby to his physical therapy appointment and asked his therapist if I could step on their scale to be accurate.
It wasn't calibrated.
It didn't work either.
Damnit, man.
So, since my own GP is close...right across the street, I decided to see if they could let me weigh in there. They have a jumbo scale. Proper and steady.
The conversation went like this:
Receptionist: Hi, how can I help you?
Me: Um...weird request, but Dr. G would like me to monitor my weight because of my fasting blood sugar, I don't have an appointment, but...could I possibly weigh in your scale, since the new one I have at home doesn't seem to be working properly?
Receptionist: Oh. Um. Sure. I guess that would be OK. Actually, I'm surprised.
Me: Oh? Why?
Receptionist: Because most women hate to weigh themselves.
Me: (chuckle) yeah, well...I'm not exception. I loathe the scale and avoid mirrors most of the time, especially where bathing suits are concerned...sigh. But, you know-that nasty diabeetus issue and all.
Receptionist: *blank stare*
Me: *fading smile* Ahem.
I guess she didn't like the diabeetus joke. Whatever.
I'm nothing if not totally inappropriate.
Especially since my GP specializes in geriatric care, and most of his patients are, in fact...diabetic.
Good times.
Receptionist: (Nodding head in disapproval) So, let me see if I can find a nurse who can take you back to weigh.
Me: Ah...OK...sure. Thanks.
I'm a dumbass.
So nurse calls me back and lets me step on the jumbo-tron scale.
Literally, it's like the scale you see on the shows on cable about: My 500 pound life.
But, it works.
I step on. 232.8
Crap. I mean, Yay?
Look...13 pounds is awesome progress..no one is debating that...but 16-18 pounds was so much prettier to me.
Damn scale.
I'll be OK though. Not giving up, obviously. I'll keep pumping along...walking everyday-no matter what, eating at 15-1600 a day.
I'll get there.
50 pounds or bust, and then maintaining. No diabeetus for me.
Sorry receptionist lady. I suffer from intermittent Tourettes.
And I'm fat. I have issues.
Thanks for the jumbo-tron.
XOXO,
Wilfred Brimley.
So my birthday gift was great. I mentioned it before. A digital scale that measures weight, body composition, fat, etc...
A nice scale.
It doesn't work for me.
Apparently, you have to stand statue still and if you shift your weight even a millimeter-it scrolls back and forth on numbers and just picks one at random.
Fuck.
So, what I thought was a 16 pound deficit-was not.
In an effort to gain understanding of a correct weight...I accompanied my hubby to his physical therapy appointment and asked his therapist if I could step on their scale to be accurate.
It wasn't calibrated.
It didn't work either.
Damnit, man.
So, since my own GP is close...right across the street, I decided to see if they could let me weigh in there. They have a jumbo scale. Proper and steady.
The conversation went like this:
Receptionist: Hi, how can I help you?
Me: Um...weird request, but Dr. G would like me to monitor my weight because of my fasting blood sugar, I don't have an appointment, but...could I possibly weigh in your scale, since the new one I have at home doesn't seem to be working properly?
Receptionist: Oh. Um. Sure. I guess that would be OK. Actually, I'm surprised.
Me: Oh? Why?
Receptionist: Because most women hate to weigh themselves.
Me: (chuckle) yeah, well...I'm not exception. I loathe the scale and avoid mirrors most of the time, especially where bathing suits are concerned...sigh. But, you know-that nasty diabeetus issue and all.
Receptionist: *blank stare*
Me: *fading smile* Ahem.
I guess she didn't like the diabeetus joke. Whatever.
I'm nothing if not totally inappropriate.
Especially since my GP specializes in geriatric care, and most of his patients are, in fact...diabetic.
Good times.
Receptionist: (Nodding head in disapproval) So, let me see if I can find a nurse who can take you back to weigh.
Me: Ah...OK...sure. Thanks.
I'm a dumbass.
So nurse calls me back and lets me step on the jumbo-tron scale.
Literally, it's like the scale you see on the shows on cable about: My 500 pound life.
But, it works.
I step on. 232.8
Crap. I mean, Yay?
Look...13 pounds is awesome progress..no one is debating that...but 16-18 pounds was so much prettier to me.
Damn scale.
I'll be OK though. Not giving up, obviously. I'll keep pumping along...walking everyday-no matter what, eating at 15-1600 a day.
I'll get there.
50 pounds or bust, and then maintaining. No diabeetus for me.
Sorry receptionist lady. I suffer from intermittent Tourettes.
And I'm fat. I have issues.
Thanks for the jumbo-tron.
XOXO,
Wilfred Brimley.
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