I don’t really ever enjoy a trip to the doctor, especially the OBGYN. But I had to go last week.
I was especially dreading the part where they weigh you. Which is totally unfair because you have all your clothes on — mine doesn’t even ask you take off your shoes — and you just ate pancakes for breakfast. Every woman knows those three factors can add up as much as 10 extra pounds.
Have you noticed that the doctor’s scale almost always says you’re a lot fatter than you’re bathroom scale says you are anyway? Of course you’re cheap Walmart scale is more accurate. So I’d say you can subtract at least 15 pounds from what the doctor tells you.
Take off 10 more, and that’s what you put on your driver’s license.
Making the weigh-in even more painful that morning, the svelte nurse asked me about how much I usually weigh.
What? You’re the one with the scale. You tell me! Don’t make me say it out loud.
I sort of mumbled a number to her – What? You didn’t think I was gonna put that in print on the Internet did you?
She fiddled around for a few seconds with those nasty little inaccurate weights while I, too afraid to look, stared at a diagram of You’re Reproductive System and tried to calculate how many pounds I could subtract for my flip-flops.
The whole shoe excuse thing works better in the winter when you’re wearing snow boots.
Interrupting my mathematical wizardry the nurse announced, “You lost a few pounds then. ”
Holding my breath, I slowly turned and looked at the scale. It said I weighed four pounds, four whole pounds, less than my scale at home.
With clothes, pancakes, flip-flops and all!
I wanted to hug her and say, “Bless your heat! I love you!” But I tried to act cool and just said, “Oh. You know. I’ve been trying .”
She looked at little disappointed at my reaction. I think she was expecting the hug.
Inside I was dancing a little jig. According to their chart I’d lost nine pounds in the last six weeks, while my scale at home barely budged. That thing is going in the trash.
I was so happy after that I almost didn’t notice all the other horrible things they did to me. Or the gawky med student.
Really! The experience is unpleasant enough. They bring in Doogie Howser, and I worry I’ll get arrested for inappropriate conduct with a minor.
But I figured if they did put out an APB for me, at least they would have my new, slimmer weight in the description. I mean, that’s something, right?