I suspect my bathroom scale was built in King County, Washington, and has suddenly added dead pounds to the list of registered pounds. It's a full-blown scandal, and I intend to hound the so-called mainstream media until they admit that poundage fraud still exists in this country, even if Dubya did win a second term handily.
Last year, Mrs. Woody and I began an odyssey to reign in our eating habits and begin some serious weight droppage. We implemented a modified Dr. Phil plan, which means we're low carbs, but not carb-intolerant. For the most part, it's worked well. Holidays, of course, are tough, but we were proud of ourselves to learn that neither of us experienced any real gain during the Christmas/New Year rush.
Then I got sick and gained over three pounds.
Now, normally when I get the flu, I can count on at least some weight loss because my body refuses to deal with all the time and expense of properly processing whatever cretin foods I'm eating. Basically, the body just pulls the giant "Flush Everything" lever and - voila! - instant weight loss!
This time, however, I appear to have some sort of virus brought to us by the same people who registered voters in King County. The dead ones. (Voters, I mean.) Consequently, no matter how many times I visited the Porcelain Reading Room, I added pounds that appeared to be defying the laws of physics.
Sundays are our weigh-in day for our official record, and I had felt that being sick would actually give me an edge in the loss column. Imagine my chagrin to find that not only did I not lose, but I'd actually regenerated three and a half pounds previously declared dead by several elected officials to whose campaigns I've been contributing for years now.
This morning I began to feel somewhat better. The fevers are still there but not as frequent. I decided a shower and fresh set of clothes would make a new man out of me. I often check the scale just prior to my shower just to see how I'm doing, even if it's not official. So, as you've already guessed, I found myself looking at a weight lower than my pre-illness weight! That's the weight Mrs. Woody should have recorded in her log, not that artificially inflated one I had to report on Sunday. I feel disenfranchised.
I could be trite about it, I suppose. I could petulantly refuse to certify our weight loss log until I've had at least five independent recounts. Or, I could just live with the fact that I'm closer today to my original goal than I was a couple of days ago.
Nah. That's too easy.