Homer is my friend.
Every Monday morning, just before getting in the shower, I weigh myself on my trusty digital bathroom scale named Homer. He doesn't judge me. He doesn't laugh as I remove every stitch of clothing as if the weight of a sock could tip the balance. I am excited to have him talk to me, hoping my efforts to eat right and exercise have paid off. He refrains from screaming in agony as I step on him. Homer blips through the numbers teasingly while I wait with bated breath for the magical number. He silently cheers me on as the numbers go down. He gleefully gives me the most encouraging news.
"You are succeeding! Keep it up. It's all worth it."
I love Homer.
Homer is my enemy.
Every Monday morning, just before getting in the shower, I weigh myself on my traitorous digital bathroom scale named Homer. He sits there on the floor and mocks me. I dread talking to him - fearing that I have gained more weight, knowing I shouldn't have eaten that entire box of cookies. I step on and he creaks as if my weight is crushing the very soul from him. Homer stalls cruelly, making me wait in apprehension for the fatal number. He silently taunts me as the numbers go up. He gleefully delivers the crushing blow.
"You didn't lose any weight. You are a failure. Give up now."
I hate Homer.
No comments:
Post a Comment