Our scale greeting me with a big fat black screen on Tuesday morning.
After suffering through two whole mornings of not being able to weigh myself, I was finally able to get a new battery last night.
The scale does turn on now, but it seems to be a bit confused.
I had a heart attack when I climbed on this morning and it told me I had gained 10 pounds since Monday. Yes, I admit! I had an Oreo (or five) after dinner last night. And maybe a few crackers with my hummus the day before. But 10 pounds? My goodness!
I called to Gilberto, still sleeping in the bedroom, and asked him if it had given him the right number when he weighed himself the night before. He yelled back a muffled Yes.
I climbed back on. Now I had lost 30 pounds since Monday. That's more like it! Not bad at all! It must have been all of the hard work I've been putting into my diet. Sure, I may have eaten a cookie or two, but I counted it in my carb allowance for the day. Totally legal. And showing great results! Yes, the scale was fine after all, and had just needed a trial run after adjusting to the new battery.
I climbed back on again. Hmph. Back to having gained 10 pounds.
Now I was obsessed. What would the scale do next?
Each time I got on after that, I lost exactly .2 pounds. I would only have to get on another 50 times for it to be back to my Monday weight. On and off I went, amazed each time as it dropped another .2 pounds.
When Gilberto came into the bathroom, I told him about the crazy scale. Oh, he said, it added 30 pounds to my weight, too. I stared at him in disbelief. Hadn't I just asked him about that, and he'd said it was fine? Did he understand the trauma he had just put me through?
I'd keep the scale if it consistently had me down by 30 pounds, but I can't take all the fluctuation. That kind of up and down isn't healthy for the body.
I'm heading to Costco tonight with Gabi to buy a new scale.