They have been on the market for years but every time I see an advertisement for them, I shudder. There’s no way those things would ever get past the front door in my house. I might even shoot the mailman if he tried to leave one on the porch.
Back when they first came out I thought about buying one, especially when my eyesight got bad enough I had to squint to see the numbers on Mama’s old bathroom scales. But hey, if I can’t see them, they can be anything I want, right?
The first time I actually saw them in a kiosk at the mall, the notion to buy one of the things did enter my mind. I’d just polished off a Hawaiian Chicken dinner at my favorite oriental restaurant and then dropped in to visit with the folks at the Braums store for a double fudge banana split. Before bedtime I intended to have that last donut under the cake dome for a night snack.
This is what I imagined would happen if I did break down and buy one…
The next morning I would stagger into the bathroom, praying the whole way that the new scales would be nice and lie to me. No need to find my glasses because no numbers appear on the new fangled scales. It talks to me. It whispers my weight and I can pretend I didn’t hear it right.
In the picture I'd conjured up it chuckled when I took off my robe and removed every hair pin from my hair. It giggled when I inhaled and let every drop of air out of my lungs before I raised a foot.
“Step right up here and prepare to blush.” The thing said in a loud booming voice before I even touched it.
I gingerly set one foot down on the glass surface. “Oh. My. Goodness. You sure pigged out last night didn’t you? I will have to adjust the balance to get a good weight on you this morning.”
I grabbed the edge of the vanity and put the other foot on the scale. It had the audacity to grunt.
“I know what you are doing.” The voice sing-songed. “Okay, everything is in place. You are five pounds heavier than…”
In the scenario playing out in my mind, I jumped off the thing and threw it against the wall before it could announce that horrible number to my whole family on the other side of the bathroom door.
It whined as it hit the floor. “I’m programmed to tell the truth. Don’t throw me away.”
At which time I shook my finger and yelled at the thing. “I’m not programmed to accept the truth. I’m going back to Mama’s old scales that always weighs me fifteen pounds light and never says a word when I hang on to the cabinet. You are going to the dumpster.”
Scenario completed. Scales were never bought. And I never want one of those wicked things. If any of my children bring them into my house, I will rewrite my will. My eyesight might be bad but my hearing is acute and I do not want to hear what that evil thing designed in the devil’s back forty of hell has to say to me.