Last week, I took Son to the doctor for a pulled muscle.
As I checked in with the receptionist, it occurred to me that I should probably get a strep throat test. I had felt like crap for several days. Horrible headache and sore throat. Just completely exhausted.
We marched to the back. Son. Medical Assistant. Me.
Son hopped on the scale. And I followed suite, after a quick glance down at my flip-flops. Take them off, or keep them on?
Heck with it, I thought. How much do flip-flops weight? I kept them on.
The digits bounced around before landing on “The Number”
And it was HIGH. I’m not a tiny person. I wasn’t exptecting a tiny person number. Still, “The Number” was higher than I expected…
Even considering that I haven’t weighted myself since sometime last fall? Or was it winter? Not sure…
I shuffled to the exam room puzzled.
Son dropped into a chair, then off to sleep.
As he counted sugar plums, I looked down at my shorts. How could they fit? How could I weigh XXX and fit into my shorts? Then it hit me.
My purse. I must have hopped onto the scale with my purse slung over my shoulder.
My ‘suitcase’ purse. A large, black Coach bag.
Contents: My (over)stuffed wallet full of rewards cards, change, business cards and receipts and a few dollars. A make-up bag…mainly in there for its selection of shiny lip glosses. Checkbook. Brush. Motrin. Cell phone. 3 extra hair ties (at least). A hardcover 400 page library book. Full water bottle. 4 pens (at least) Car keys. A date book/planner. A notebook because I am always writing. And who knows what else?
It wasn’t even so much “The Number” that bothered me. After all, it’s only a number. Does not reflect who I am. Might have bothered me many years ago, but I’ve been over letting my life be ruled by numbers for many, many years. (otherwise balancing my checkbook might upset me…)
It was more that things didn’t add up. Didn’t make sense. The pieces of the puzzle weren’t fitting together.
In the end, I had a fever…AND strep throat. No wonder I felt like sh#%.
I confirmed my ‘purse theory’ the next day, when I stepped on our bathroom scale and I weighed about 12 pounds less than “The Number” at the doctor’s office. (Of course, I weighed my purse, too.)
Mystery solved. And still, who gets on a scale fully clothed, shoes on, not noticing the heavy purse over their shoulder?
Trust me. I often wonder why I do the things I do….