Minority Report. Wk 3.

My Dearest Scale,

You have been my daily companion for as long as I can remember, but I am leaving you. I lay here thinking about the ways to implement your demise. Perhaps, I will accidentally run you over as you sit in the garage sale pile, or maybe give you over into the hands of my 11 year old for a science experiment. The options are limitless and I will revel in them.

You will no longer live in my bathroom. Alas, you will no longer be able to taunt me every time I walk by. For you have become a symbol of failure and I will no longer tolerate it. You reek havoc upon the countless beautiful women across this country. You torture us all with your fancy foot tapping features, sleek chrome designs, and ridiculous LCD displays of numerical value…right down to the hundreths place.

My bathroom is a place that I have strived to make peaceful and beautiful. A place to get ready to begin my day….on a positive note. You are not welcome there anymore.

For far too long I have given you the power to decide what kind of day I will have. You can not do that to me. Not any longer. We are through.

Really WHY do I need you? There are other ways to measure my health. If I bend over to tie my shoes and my stomach touches each other…isn’t this a warning sign? If my pants are getting to tight…red flags will fly. If I have no energy and can’t get up in the morning, I don’t need you to tell me why.

You derailed me last week, all because of a number…That’s ridiculous.

I know how I should look and feel. I know full well without you yelling at me everyday….and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am not going to miss you…..not even a little bit.

We are SO over.

Goodbye.