Curse You, Isaac Newton!
I had the stomach flu all weekend. My children, having enjoyed it all week, decided to share the joy and gave me a turn hosting the germs for the weekend. They’re givers. Truly.
So, I spent the weekend curled up in bed or in the loo revisiting and…er…uh…otherwise experiencing the joy of an angry stomach. I sucked on a few 7up chips (crushed ice cubes made of 7Up) after I realized I was on well on my way to turning into a raisin.
And, (cue the pathetic, “Why me?” sympathetic, soundtrack here) I didn’t get to do any of the fun Christmas preparations I planned to do with my kids. I didn’t get any of the non-fun stuff done either, which means it’ll be waiting for me this week. I missed my hair and nail appointments, so I am not looking good. My kids ran crazy over The Professor, and trashed the house. Groan.
But, even as I laid curled up in a fetal position on my bed, watching the room spin around, and considered all of the negative consequences of my…uhm…prolific output, I knew there was a saving grace to all of this unpleasantness.
I was losing a ton of weight. Yes, I know, I know. It’s just water weight, but I didn’t care. This is December, the center of Holiday Weight Gain Central. Every little bit gone helps. Hey, if these runs mean I can run half a mile less in January, then that’s a positive.
So, this morning I nearly skipped to the bathroom to weigh in. I was feeling nearly giddy, because not only had my grumpy stomach relented, I was about to see how much of me it took with it.
I hopped on the scale. I exhaled (every little bit helps). I adjusted the slidee things. I felt dizzy again.
I hadn’t lost any weight!
I’ve had 3 years of college physics. I know that all output and no input should add up to a loss. I want to talk to Newton or Galileo or least Jenny Craig. Someone needs to explain this to me.
Either the scale was broken or I had become a miracle of physics.
I asked The Professor emphatically (some might say whined. Some would be wrong and not get any candy in their stocking), “Didn’t you think, I mean considering everything, that I lost at least 5 pounds this weekend?”
The Professor, who didn’t think I noticed the signal his eye roll sent, said, “I hauled the buckets. I think it might’ve been closer to 10 pounds.” I think he might have been taking this less than completely seriously.
“But, I’ve weighed 3 times and I didn’t lose an ounce. Do you think the scale’s broken?” I emphasized. I don’t whine.
“There’s nothing wrong with the scale. It’s a balance scale. You know it can’t break, unless there’s something wrong with gravity this morning,” he stated flatly, sipping his coffee, clearly not realizing the gravity of this situation. Pun totally intended.
I was so frustrated. “Then, how do you explain this?” I demanded.
The Professor, always a great sympathizer and support, simply explained, “Darling, don’t be ridiculous. You obviously weighed a lot more before you got sick than you thought you did.”
I sent him a signal.
And, it wasn’t with my eyes.
Laugh Out Loud!
How are your plans for the holidays shaping up? Are you making room for cookies? Shoot me a comment. I’m looking forward to hearing all about it!