A nurse came to the house yesterday for the mandatory Prudential we-won’t-sell-you-life-insurance-unless-we’re-sure- you-don’t-need-it check-up. As usual, my blood pressure is unspeakably low — it’s a wonder I can even blink my eyes — but it turns out Jack and I are, respectively, eleven and five pounds heavier than our bathroom scale says we are. Our bathroom scale is a dirty black liar, yes, but it’s also an inconsistent liar? Shouldn’t we both be the same amount of pounds overweight? Shouldn’t everyone who gets on the scale go, Oh, this scale is five pounds off! Instead, our scale seems to size up each individual who steps on it, and says, “Hmm, not only can I can detect your core temperature by calculating the surface area of the soles of your feet, but I can also grade your personal vanity and visualize the last time you called your mom. I hereby decree your weight to be two pounds off! Go forth and feel not too badly about yourself today.”
If it was just the scale thing I probably wouldn’t have bothered posting about it, but according to the nurse’s magical measuring tape, I’m a full inch taller than I thought I was? And Jack is an inch shorter.
ALSO, I need to alert you to the fact that it’s the Spring Sell-A-Thon over on my t-shirt page, prices have been slashed and all winter-weather long-sleeve tees are now $5.00 off until I leave for New York. Your support means I’ll not only make it to BlogHer this year but I’ll also be able to launch a saucy new batch of “Fussy” tees in time for the summer pouting season.