My long-time friend and former college roommate glees in giving me old things. Not the vintage variety, just stuff she no longer has use for — she feels virtuous in passing her castoffs along, like I'm her personal one-way Buy Nothing Group.
For my birthday, she gave me an empty cardboard taffy box, with (in her mind), ‘cool graphics’ so she couldn't bring herself to recycle it. Another time, knowing I wanted a serger, she offered one that she got for free. Upon inspection of the coveted machine, I discovered it was missing irreplaceable parts. And once, while I was helping her clean out her beach home garage, she unearthed a bathroom scale and insisted I take it, even though I prefer not to weigh myself. Dutifully, I toted it home, cleaned it up and tucked it under the bedroom sideboard.
A few days later, I dragged it out and stepped aboard. To my horror, it revealed that I gained seven pounds since I weighed in at the doctor’s office last year. From that day on, I became obsessed with trying to get the scale to resume my previous poundage — this without exercise or dieting. I tried hopping on before breakfast, after bathing, right before I slept; I removed my clothing, house slippers, glasses; I tiptoed, edging towards the front or back of the platform. These tactics failed to bring about the results that I wanted.
Then I discovered that if I oriented the scale different directions, I could achieve a modicum of weight loss. With the top pointed south, I tipped the scales. But just a quarter turn to the west and voila! Instantly, three pounds vanished. Orient it to the north and lo and behold, I’m back to being a porker. And with just another pivot to the east, I’m svelte again.
Prior to owning this scale, I rarely checked, never cared. Now I found myself sneaking into the bedroom to see if I could manipulate this device into showing me the numbers I wanted. This yo-yo situation started weighing on me — was it me or the machine? The inconsistency was mind fucking and gnawing at my self-esteem.
The other morning, many months after my friend’s largess, I was doing yoga on the bedroom floor and could see the evil scale peering out from under the credenza, just waiting to depress my day. And it occurred to me, as I hummed through the ‘Oms,’ that the ‘gift’ wasn’t generosity at all. Just like all the other junk she sends my way, it’s really something I need to say ‘No’ to ... and perhaps it’s time for me to value myself more and accept less from certain people.
Since this epiphany, I haven’t stepped on the scale again. A few days ago, I went to my doctor for my annual wellness visit. With much dread, I bellied up to the office scale and held my breath as the digital numbers displayed my true weight. “Good ... only two pounds different from last year,” the nurse remarked as she ticked her chart. With a silent “Humph,” I made a mental note to toss that piece-of-shit scale, and just maybe, the friendship along with it.
