Mamavation Monday: Conversations with My Scale

Pauline (Sobbing to her scale, whom, for the sake of character development, I have named Sally): Why are you the only one that likes me? Sally: What? What do you mean? Who was mean to you?

Pauline: Well, *Sniffle sniffle* I had to get on the crap metal junk pile at the doctor's office..and...and...(Voice breaking) it's just too horrible!

Sally: We've been through a lot together. You can tell me what happened.

Pauline: Well, you know how you were all 'You are so pretty and here's your waistline back' this morning?

Sally: Yes...?

Pauline: I gained 10 pounds between getting dressed and going to the doctor!

Sally (gasping!): Liars!

Pauline: I know, right? What's up with that?

Sally: Don't listen to that guy. He's old. He's cranky. And he probably hasn't been calibrated since he was invented. It's like the mechanical equivalent to blue balls. No wonder he is pissy. Plus he is probably just bitchy because he knows that he's on his way to the scrap pile. Who the hell uses those things anymore when you can have me? *Flashes digital numbers proudly*

Pauline: You're right. But 10 pounds?

Sally: Get off the 10 pounds, already! Would I lie to you? Besides, I have it on good authority it's all a medical conspiracy to send susceptible women crying into their doctor's arms begging for a nice little diet pill and Prozac cocktail. (Throws in dramatic southern voice for effect) "Oh, Doctor! My life has no meaning and I am a fat ass because your scale just told me so! Please make it all better!"

Pauline: Oh, shut up. I wasn't that bad. I only asked for the Prozac.

Sally: And now?

Pauline: Ask me after it's kicked in.