I hate the scale. And
when I say hate, I don’t even think that is a strong enough word. We had our weigh in today for the Biggest
Loser competition at work. I wasn’t the
best, but I wasn’t the worst. I only
lost a pound. One side of me is
proud. I did it. I lost my pound per week. That’s one less pound on my body, and one
less pound I still have left to lose.
The other side of me is ranting in R rated language that would
make Joe Pesci blush Now, Mama didn’t
raise no fool. I know that my weigh
fluctuates tremendously from day to day, hour to hour. Hell, I’ve gained and lost 7 pounds since
MONDAY. But come the fuck on. ONE damn pound since last week?!?!? This is beyond frustrating. I feel like I did all this work, and for
what? ONE measly pound? I am seriously hoping that is this still
water weight from the detox, and working out, and stress, and that number is
magically going to plummet 1-2 more whole numbers. By like, tomorrow.
And while I want nothing more than to dive head first into a bag of Lays Salt and Vinegar chips followed by 2 or 3 Mountain Dews… I refuse. Because I KNOW that the scale is an evil lying bitch that was created by food companies to drive you to binge eat their delicious snacks. Mother. Fuckers. – I’m on to you.
I’m going to go eat my baked chicken and carrots now.
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