By Mary Mead
I was at my darkest point, the lowest of low and then suddenly out of nowhere, a light began to emerge. Yanking out the final piece of laundry and a long missing shoe, I could now clearly see under the bed, all the way to the other side! Mission accomplished. And if the truth were known, it was the first mission I’d undertaken, let alone accomplished in about 18 months. I certainly didn’t set out to clean under the bed and if I still had a cleaning lady, she’d be so fired. I couldn’t believe what was under that bed. For crying out loud, did you really think that I’d believe all that crap had accumulated in a mere 18 months? I think not.
Anyhow, back to how I got into that position in the first place. I thought I’d try to do a few sit ups, nothing strenuous, just a few ab crunches, you know strengthen the “old core.” But once I got down there I got distracted when I found a library book that I’d been searching for since last Christmas. Yeah, the book that made them revoke my card. My last plastic card, which I may add, had no limit and that I thought they couldn’t take away, was revoked. Crap. Ah, such is the life of the underemployed. They may take my plastic, but they will never take away my dignity!
Although, I will admit, at times like this, lying in a prone position with dust bunnies swirling around, one may wonder about that. But something hit me down there, something big. This wasn’t just about me doing a few crunches or finding the key to getting my library pass back; this was about the rest of my life. Was this how I was gonna be spending it? Cleaning up my own messes, or was I gonna hire someone to do this for me? I started to get mad, really, really mad.
This wasn’t me- this middle aged, gray haired, underemployed, wine swilling, dust covered loser, (well part of that last sentence WAS me). It was time to get serious. So, once I called my daughter in to help me into a standing position, I dusted off and sat down to watch the Tyra show, where I get all my important information. If fifty is the new forty, Tyra is the new Oprah. The show today proved to be life changing.
Tyra introduced me to my new best friend, the Quantum Scale. I am still kicking myself that I didn’t think of this, it makes perfect sense. The scale that never mocks, the scale that never lies, well technically, it never lies except by omission. So what’s not to love you ask? Nothing, absolutely nothing. This little “super-secret” keeper, secretly records your starting weight. You jump on for the first time and there are no gasps, no snickers, and no little voices in the background stifling a laugh. What you see and hear is nothing- nothing at all. The next time you jump on it welcomes you back with a plus or a minus and the number of pounds. How great is that? Think about it, how many times have you been at the doctor’s office and they tell you to “strip to your panties and jump on the scale”. They ask you to do it like it means nothing. Little do they know you have spent that last two weeks eating nothing and gulping down vitamin water. OK, you cheated just a bit and drank some wine, but that doesn’t really count, right? Then you step up gingerly on the scale thinking that if you slowly add your body weight it may add up to less. The Fat-doctor’s nurses will tisk a bit and then slide the 50lb increment over to the next level. She then slides the other measurement down slowly, until it dawns on her that she caught herself a “big one” here. The whole time you are thinking, I wonder if the fat-doctor nurse will notice that my left hand is on the counter-top offering a slight lightening of this load. When she finally zero’s in on a number and tries to keep her face from showing her disdain, she will offer you a small smile and say, “Well, at least you are in the right place”. Dr. Fat Doctor will be in to see you shortly. Shortly turns out to be an understatement. You wait so long; you’ve missed several meals and demand a re-weigh, certain you have lost some water weight in the interim.
Well, so if that little scenario sounds familiar to you, you are about to fall in love with the Quantum Scale. It always keeps you guessing on where you started, but that is not important, right? Ask any fat person and they will gloss over the real number and want to focus on what is important. “It is not important that they had to roll in a livestock scale, what is important is how I feel”. Yeah, right. You feel like crap, why don’t you just admit it? For a while, I wasn’t sure if I was depressed or just fat. It took me several years to realize I am both! But since I ordered the Quantum scale, I can now see clearly, things are looking up. I have a new best friend and guess what- they can keep a secret!