An Ode to.... the scales of doom

I'm pretty sure that every time I pass the bathroom, I can hear the dulcet tones of the Funeral March drifting from 'them'. The sheer thought of 'them' evokes fear into me and its enough to get my clothes off even in the most freezing of mornings. What am I talking about? The bathroom scales.

This is my ode to you....

Oh, how on a Monday, instead of looking forward to the beginning of a new working week, I tip toe into the same room as you and just hope you don't notice me. I can feel your steely screen glaring at me as I stand there rubbing sleep from my eyes, yeah, I'm not looking at you. Maybe if I avoid all kinds of eye contact you wont notice me or start your gravitational pull. The curious cat side of me thinks that maybe, just maybe, if I put my big toe on you, you will magically give me the figure that I so desperately want, cos y'know, obviously, my big toe's weight is the equivalent of my entire body, right? ..... right???oh no, you are far too clever for any of those shenanigans. Every other day, the same sequence goes, we try to ignore each other, or should I say I avoid you, but not the other way round, nope. Every day you taunt me 'come on Sarah, just a small step, a teeny tiny step on me and your fate will be revealed' Why do you do that?

Like the person I am, I cant ignore you and your continuous taunts, you are way too persuasive for me. You promise me success: success that the figure that appears on your smooth looking digital display, is exactly what I had been hoping for. You have this power to make me happy, sad, jovial or god damn depressed - you have that undenying power to pretty much make or break my day/week/month or any god damn special occasion I might hope to attend. When you show me something good, I love you. I love you to the point where I'd happily strap you to my chest and walk around displaying your screen like some sort of 'weight sandwich board' - 'Look at me, look how much I weigh, my scales love me' but most of the other times, you hate me and well, to put it bluntly, I hate you.

And so goes the daily ritual: every time before I dare to step on your cold glass surface, I take every single god damn piece of clothing off: anything that is remotely removable on my body, it's-a-coming-off. Trust me, if I had false teeth, a wig and limbs I could remove... I would. There really is nothing more horrendous than the way you look up at me when I'm stood there as nude as the day I was born.... we both know you're not going to tell me something I want to hear right!? and so the story begins and ends, day in day out, and anytime of day or night, you're there, ready, waiting for me. You are the bain of my life and that is why, you are going in the bin.

And on your gravestone is shall read: 2012 - the year I said goodbye to the scales.

I loved to hate you.