Hey you MF'er! I hate you!!

Dear Mr. Bathroom Scale,

We're breaking up. Or at least taking some time off to explore other options. I've been so dang committed to you for years. What have you truly ever given me besides grief? The victories are so few, so far between and I'm tired of your seductive power over me. Each day you manage to reel me in. Sometimes just once. But most times you managed to harass me up to 4 times in one morning.

Why do I give in to your seduction? Time and time again you fail me. Or remind me that I'm failing myself. It's those few, exhilarating mornings that you show me a lighter me or a number that gives my day ahead impending joy that I keep coming back to you. If you were a man, I'd have kicked your power-tripped ass to the curb long ago. I'd be woman enough to do it to a man, but I've never been strong enough to get over you and I hate myself for it.

I'm tired of you setting the tone to MY day. I'm tired of you managing with your battery power to completely ruin my morning. I may rid you of your batteries entirely and show you how it feels to have power ripped from you, just like you manage to do to me time & time again. I've got a few other battery powered gadgets that make me feel way better than you do, ya know.

However, I know myself. I know I'll just reach down under my bed and pull out your stupid friend, the manual scale. No batteries in him and I still managed to dump his ass a few years ago for you - the shinier, newer, more accurate version. Oh how I love your .2 increments -- love them as they disappear, love to curse them when they rise.

My goal weight once felt within reach. The past 2 weeks, you MF'er, you've shown me the same damn number time and time again - right down to the same .4 ounce. My goal weight no longer feels within reach. The jeans I had on yesterday came off without unbuttoning them. All of my XL tank tops look like they belong to someone else. I feel like such a frump. I always wonder if the women in the gym locker room think I'm homeless, borrowing someone else's clothes or truly, truly need my own episode of What Not To Wear. But you, Mr. Bathroom Scale, you show me no mercy. According to you I'm not doing enough. I was supposed to schedule my plastic surgery TODAY, but YOU failed me. I know, I blame you. It's easier than blaming myself. We're bad together, Mr. Bathroom Scale. I'm sorry.

I need some time off. I'm need to start my days a little more positive. I'm giving you one week to get your shit together or I can assure you of one thing -- I'll be finding you the nearest landfill to live out your days.

And then {sigh} I'm sure I'll be shopping for another Mr. Bathroom Scale that promises me the newest & greatest features. If only you could show me a smaller number....I'd stay with you.

Love, ..... scratch that -- F U,
Marissa