This Time It's Personal

Obscured by the sounds of running water and my toothbrush, I could have sworn I heard my husband say, "According to the scale, I lost thirty pounds since last week."

"Fwee pawnds?" I replied, mouth filled with toothpaste.

"No, not three. Thirty."

Since he didn't have a bout of dysentery or cut off one of his arms last week, a dead battery in the scale seemed the most logical explanation. "Oh, don't change the battery until I have a chance to try it too. I want to know what it's like to get on the scale and feel all tiny!"

Now, I know that men lose weight more easily than women (our bodies need to cling to fat to protect unborn babies, survive the Donner Party, etc.), so I've taken my husband's fifteen to my four pound loss this summer with a grain of salt. (Just a grain, though. Water retention, yanno.)

When I stepped on the scale I saw that, to my dismay, it only registered a twenty pound loss.

Not thirty.

Twenty.

Apparently, it is easier for men to lose imaginary weight as well.

Hmph!