My love/hate relationship

I'm in a love/hate relationship.

Actually, I'm in several.

I love/hate food. Love it going down, hate where it ends up. (usually my hips). I love a clean house, hate to clean it. I love my job, hate getting up so early to go to it. I guess this is what the scriptures mean when it talks about opposition in all things. Then again, probably not.

So I don't know why I was so surprised when I bought a new bathroom scale and fell in love with it. It has the ability to show me my weight in bold digital numbers, no more counting little lines as they bounce back and forth everytime I shift my weight. It also has the ability to tell me my fat percentage and water weight percentage. It's white and sleek and chic...what's not to love!

A minute and a few shed clothes later, I hate the stupid thing. According to my new Biggest Loser scale, I am 1% away from being in the obese category. WHAT? How did that happen? My old scale didn't tell me I was obese. In fact, my old 'watch the lines bounce between the red line' scale said I was 15 pounds less! I love my old bathroom scale. Why I felt the need to replace it is beyond me. I was lured by my love for the Biggest Loser show, by the contestants who inspire me and make me think that someday I might be able to run a marathon. I was lured by Bob and Jillian on the box, promising accurate results and a free Biggest Loser workout guide. I was lured by the Kohls early bird special and my extra 15% off discount. Stupid Kohls coupons that I love/hate. (add it to my list) They get me in trouble.

But I mostly love/hate the feeling that I now need to do something about this new revelation.

Do I start a diet that I know I'll never stick too? Do I deprive myself of life's greatest pleasures, aka chocolate, cheesecake, ice-cream, do I pay a months salary for gym fees that I know I'll never use...or do I accept the fact I'm getting older and my metabolism has slowed down, embrace my new role as Grandma in a grandmotherly body, and get real about the fact that my jeans are not all shrinking in the dryer and that pant sizes haven't gotten smaller over time, I've just gotten bigger.

The mind can be a cruel thing. In my mind, I'm still in my 20's. I still get giddy and excited when I know that Faun is coming up to go shopping with me. I still love going to Disneyland. I still like to crank my "Queen" CD up and sing and dance to Bohemian Rhapsody. I think Jacob is hot and that Donny still has it. (so do you Tary). So when I look in the mirror and see extra baggage, on the face and on the hips, it always surprises me. I don't feel the way I look. I don't know who that old person staring back at me is. In my mind I haven't aged a bit, maybe just matured or gotten a little wiser (the jury is still out).

So when my new scale boldly declared what I've been denying all these years, it was like a slap in the face. Obviously, just because the mind can stay young, doesn't necessarily mean the body will too. It's time to get off the detour of denial and get back on the treadmill of truth....

...just as soon as I retrieve my old scale. Obviously there's something wrong with my new one.
Don't you just love/hate when that happens?