#PleaseDontSlideToTheRight

Honest Mistake. My Bad...

Scales.

I’m not talking about those transparent crust-like things on the bodies of fish before they “trial by hot grease” become what I crave on Friday’s (not at…ON). FRIED! Yaaaassssss Lawd! Fry me some catfish, and I’ll do your laundry…fluffed and folded!

But nope. Not those things. Nothing transparent about the scales I’m writing about. Unless your scale is made of glass… #carefulwiththatstone

I’m talking about those machines. Those torture devices that with an LCD screen will devastate your day with one not misplaced digit. Most women I know, just about everywhere fckin HATE scales.

*I know I’m generalizing but… I also know that “this here blog is my blog” #namethatmoviereference*

Probably one of the many reasons I also hate doctors. They are devils in white (sometimes multi-colored) lab coats. And their evil little henchpersons #EEO running around with stethoscopes? Adorned in floral printed scrubs. The only good thing about Doctors visits is that they don’t count towards my vacation time.

And before we come face to face with satan, the evil little followers do what? Ask you all kinds of personal questions! TMI, bro! T to the M to the muthaf’n I!

Questions… When was your last one night stand? Was he cute? How many happy hours have you been to today, as in before this appointment? #YouLookLikeYouDrinkHeavily  Would you like to add your uterus to the organ donor list? Besides cramps, what do you do with it, honestly? #NoKidsYet

Answers… What year is this, I’m not sure. I hope he was. Wait, how are we defining one-night stand? 2 happy hours, Jerk. You know, that’s not a bad idea actually. Besides cramps, nothing really happens in there. #MyCrampsSuck Do you have a pamphlet I can take home?

Then it happens, right? Okay, well before that, your flab-filled bicep busts the blood pressure cuff because you realize after answering all those questions that you aren’t really winning at life like you thought you were. Winning? #YoureNot I honestly thought I was…

THEN it happens…

           

            Evil One-Eyed Minion: Can you step on the scale?

            Me: *can you go to Hell?* Sure, no problem… #ThatsAMovieReferenceToo

Why is it that Doctors still have those scales we used in the 6^th grade to measure chemicals, which was actually probably just sugar and flour mixed together? Yo, Kaiser, can you spring for an updated weight apparatus? I mean damn…where is this money for my health premium going? Even drug dealers have more sophisticated machines. Not that I know. Or know any…drug dealers… Can those things even be classified as analog? More like abacus… #SlideToTheLeft #PleaseDontSlideToTheRight #NoHopsThisTime

Okay, where was I?

So here’s the thing. I get it. I run. My body is changing. The scale did more hops this time last year, than it’s doing this time this year. And you want to audibly recognize that. Great. Thank you. *no sarcasm, really, thanks*

But here are a few little known facts about big’ole’me… I don’t weigh myself. Never been something I was into – especially in my adult-ish life. I’m glad my body is changing, but the numbers don’t really matter. I just like (love) the feeling. I don’t know how much weight I’ve gained, lost, forgotten or hid in spanx. I could honestly care less about those numbers. The only thing concerning me is whether or not my shoes still fit – They Better. Or there will be HELL. Trust. I am happy running and medaling my Monday’s. It makes me kinda sad when you ask.

I know you mean well. I always assume the best anyway, so we’re gucci… Your intentions are good. It’s just by the time they get to the irrational part of my brain, they sometimes get misunderstood… Oh Lord…I get enough reminders of what I’m not daily…and by memory. And I also get that you are happy for me. Or maybe you wanna know how I did it? Or you’re looking for a buddy on your journey to a different you? Or honestly, there’s a lull in the conversation and that’s the thought that pops up? I know you mean the best. That’s why I answer honestly, with as much grace as I can muster in that moment.

I'd like to think I am too.

Just accept that sometimes I might not be so gracious. I’m still learning how to accept boxes of darkness. I might be silent every now and then. Or I might even change the subject.

Here’s the thing. You’re not the evil one, or one of his satanic spawn squeaking around in rubber birkenstocks. Nor are you bound to me by a Non-Disclosure Agreement *well, some of you are* #CodeBlack This means, I actually don’t have to tell you anything.

And part of this being grown-ish thing is not “owning” how you might feel about that. And I’m perfectly okay with that.

…I actually think doctors are okay. Nurses too. I mean, I work in education, so any hate can be directed to the fact that their W-2’s are bigger than mine. #ItsTaxSeason…Your health is important...

Get that ish checked…