Hello 2016! This week I faced the scariest challenge of my life. More horrifying than “Friday the 13th,” deadlier than “Serpents on a Plane,” more life-threatening than the disease of the week on “House,” harder than child birth, and infinitely more challenging than living with a 22-year-old in the house.
Yes folks, I am talking about that instrument that strikes fear into the hearts of millions and hangs above our heads mightier than the Sword of Damocles — the 12-inch-by-12-inch square of springs, weights, glass, and metal that tells our past (what we ate yesterday), the present (what we eat today), and the future (hopefully, what we won’t eat the next day) in large-sized numbers that we myopic folks can see from 12 miles high. I’m talking about the scale.
The ubiquitous scale that resides in every bathroom in every home across the country and is the most overworked and unloved instrument in every home on Jan. 1.
I stepped on mine on Jan. 3. Why two days after New Year’s? That’s how long it took to work up the nerve (and to get rid of all the illegal foods in the house) before I could set a toe on it to face my demons.
Not one to waste, I am very conscious of recycling and reusing — I just could not, in good conscience, ignore the Mallomars that sat in the closet, nor the ice-cream bars in the freezer, nor the last, lonely bag of popcorn that was just begging for digestion. I could not just throw them out — no, I had to make them disappear the old fashioned way. I ate them.
Once all the delicious-but-bad-for-you goodies were disposed of humanely, it was time to pay the piper.
I steeled my courage, girded my loins, and stepped on the scale. After the numbers finished tumbling like a one-armed bandit in Vegas — and after taking several moments to catch my breath after the dreaded number appeared — I was prepared to step off into my destiny and begin the odyssey of my weight-loss journey.
Odysseus has nothing on me, I proclaimed.
“This time I will succeed,” I said. “I will not be bowed by the last potato chip wedged behind the sofa cushion, nor will I be led astray by the apple pie that snuck into my shopping cart when I was not looking.”
Not for Nuthin,™ but did I mention that one Mallomar managed to flee to safety and is now hiding somewhere in the kitchen cabinet?
Follow me on Twitter @JDelBuono.
