My son teases me about the food scale. When we were packing for Thanksgiving, he suggested that I pack it. He thought it would make my plight more moving if I sat at the Thanksgiving table and placed my scale next to my plate. “That way you can be sure, “ he mused. Sure to startle everyone seated. Sure to look utterly ridiculous. And sure to be the butt of jokes for many years to come. (He really was just kidding).
Of course I would never transport my little scale out of the kitchen, but it is rather handy. I don’t weigh everything, but some things are too difficult to estimate.
I weigh the lox I have for breakfast most mornings to make sure I stay within one ounce. I weigh the raisenets I love to eat at the movies, to insure I don’t exceed 55grams for 5 points. And I weigh prime strip steaks to insure I accurately account for them. I would never eat the recommended four ounce serving. Doubling that tastes about right.
As I write this, I still cannot believe that weighing food is something I actually do.
I also love my sleek, glass, digital scale. My first one ever. I weigh myself almost every morning. I know you are not supposed to, and I know weight can fluctuate throughout the day. But I still want to. It keeps me grounded.
So this morning after showering, I step on the scale. And for the first time in a very long time, the middle digit registers a 3. Just barely, but nonetheless, it is a three.
When the middle digit becomes a 2 I'lll be on the final stretch. I can’t believe how far I’ve come, and how good it feels.
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