Facing the Bathroom Scale

It measures the effect gravity has on our bodies. But we let it also measure our self-worth, sexiness, and success.

The scale has an aura. The zone around it in the bathroom becomes sacred like an alter in church, a place to be avoided. Don’t step over there. It’s where the scale is.

I’ve occasionally faltered in my bathroom grabbing for different hair appliances with opposite hands. Swaying off balance, a foot steps into the scale zone. I expect a black and white striped man with a whistle and red flag to appear from the shower, announcing, “Out of bounds foot placement. Penalty: plus two pounds.”

You can not enter the bathroom scale zone, unless you’ve earned it. First, you must be absolutely naked and dry. If you have showered, you must be air dried with the force and suction of the vacuum that descends on your automobile’s hood in a car wash. Not a smidgen of moisture on one’s skin or hair. I even spit before stepping on the scale. Hey, saliva is a very dense liquid. We won’t get into any of the other organic evacuation methods employed before weighing in.

No jewelry either. Earrings, watches, wedding rings are eagerly removed and tossed into the most treacherous place possible—the bathroom sink.

I’ve known women to shave and tweeze beforehand. I try to book 6 AM haircuts for the same reason. And what’s the first thing a woman does after having her ovaries or appendix removed? You got it, weigh herself. If you ever get joint replacement surgery, make sure to go titanium, you can loose about 8 ounces per limb compared to the weight of actual bone.

There’s other criteria too. You must not be within 7 days before or after a menstrual cycle. It cannot be a full moon, eclipse, or waxing gibbous. You cannot have eaten or drunken anything for roughly the last 72 hours. However, you can have an oven fresh blueberry muffin waiting for you on the toilet tank. My husband didn’t understand why I moved a mug tree and the coffee maker into the upstairs master bath.

You cannot have consumed anything with sodium at any point since women received the vote from the 19th Amendment, which includes among other things: anything that came from a can (soup, broth, soda, and tuna), anything that comes from a bag (pretzels, crackers, cookies, and cereal), and anything that comes from a bottle (gin, vodka, wine, beer, and any other spirits). The body’s ability to retain water is magnified eight fold within the scale zone.

The bathroom doors and windows must be locked tight and tripled sealed. Ideally everyone else should be asleep or out of the house. Why New Jersey puts public scales in their turnpike rest rooms, I don’t know. Who, after the dog pukes and the kids ask “Are we there yet” for the 3,028 time, thinks, at the next rest stop I want to hop on a scale just to pick my spirits up.

With these complex criteria fulfilled, I exhale deeply forcing air out of my diaphragm to the point I engage a pelvic tilt, hold my breath like a scuba diver, and step on the device. What will it tell me... Whether I have been good or not? Whether I can wear fat or skinny clothes today? Actually I knew those answers already.

As the digital numbers begin to settle on a reading, I squeeze my eyes, lips, and anus, in hopeful anticipation, like I was watching a roulette table. "Pleeeeeeease." It lands on number .2 above yesterday. I turn around and pour myself a cup of coffee toasting my naked self in the mirror. “Good deal. Here’s to keeping it on an even keel.”