I recently bought a fully furnished apartment here in Shanghai, China. I have throw pillows and plants and stocked toilet paper and feel like an ADULT!
Along with the all the fancy gizmos and gadgets (yes, stocked toilet paper just took it up a notch for me) I found a scale under the sink.
I am 24 years old and have never owned a scale. Until now.
I am so sorry, ladies and gentlemen. I had no idea what you were going through. All you normal people out there with a monster under your sink.
I stepped on a few days ago out of curiosity. Oh, surprise. I weighed about 7 or 8 pounds more than I had estimated. No problem, right? I was clueless before then. I was still beautiful, wonderful, adorable me-
Eh, maybe I should start eating a little bit less.
Oh, how quick the fall. This morning I stepped on again, saw that the number went down, and was happy.
Happy.
Kill me now. It took twice, TWICE, and my self-esteem was already trapped in a little tiny square with a number.
Now is the problem of disposing with the monster.
I won't use it again, I'll keep it just in case. What if I need to weigh my luggage one day? That is a legit concern. What about that giant bag of bananas I bought they said was one weight at the grocery store but they were really lying and it's better if I have this thing around to check just in case? What if someday my weight really does become a problem and I should start monitoring it and I should just keep this one so I don't have to buy a new one someday, right?
It's a monster. Like the monster book Harry Potter has to buy that runs under his bed and tries to eat him.
Along with the all the fancy gizmos and gadgets (yes, stocked toilet paper just took it up a notch for me) I found a scale under the sink.
I am 24 years old and have never owned a scale. Until now.
I am so sorry, ladies and gentlemen. I had no idea what you were going through. All you normal people out there with a monster under your sink.
I stepped on a few days ago out of curiosity. Oh, surprise. I weighed about 7 or 8 pounds more than I had estimated. No problem, right? I was clueless before then. I was still beautiful, wonderful, adorable me-
Eh, maybe I should start eating a little bit less.
Oh, how quick the fall. This morning I stepped on again, saw that the number went down, and was happy.
Happy.
Kill me now. It took twice, TWICE, and my self-esteem was already trapped in a little tiny square with a number.
Now is the problem of disposing with the monster.
I won't use it again, I'll keep it just in case. What if I need to weigh my luggage one day? That is a legit concern. What about that giant bag of bananas I bought they said was one weight at the grocery store but they were really lying and it's better if I have this thing around to check just in case? What if someday my weight really does become a problem and I should start monitoring it and I should just keep this one so I don't have to buy a new one someday, right?
It's a monster. Like the monster book Harry Potter has to buy that runs under his bed and tries to eat him.
A google image reinterpretation, but that's pretty much what it looked like.
I apologize to all of you out there who have had this monster much longer than I have, and I could never quite understand how it was so difficult or made you so depressed. I get it now. It's terrible. And while I completely understand how hard it is to get rid of the thing (I still need to make the final move of taking out the trash, myself) please, please please do yourself a favor and dump it. Start a revolution. Ruin the scale business forever and ever. You don't need this crap in your life.
Instead, invest in a sexy, comfortable pair of underwear that you can dance around in while making some french toast. That's what I'm doing today.
Kill the monster guys. Kill it dead.
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