Here's what I hate about the scale

I thought I was having a GREAT week. You know that feeling when you first wake up, before you actually get up, when you know you've done everything right and all's well with the world? And your body just feels thinner?

And it's Friday and you weigh yourself on Fridays and the &%@)%$&^% scale says you've gained a pound?

Please tell me you know that feeling, too.

I haven't gained a pound. I KNOW I haven't gained a pound. I pulled the other scale down off the shelf and it said I've lost two pounds. Yes, I know the other scale would show a gain if I'd been using it all along, but still. I suppose I should dance with the scale I came with.

Oh, but I'm so tempted to switch. It weighs in half-pound increments and calculates body fat. I would have to read the manual again to figure that part out, however.

This week was STELLAR. I ate much closer to the calorie goals. (Still under the goals, but by a much narrower margin.) And I hit two high spots with my walking:

If only I hadn't gotten on the scale.

If I hadn't weighed myself, I'd be writing about how AMAZING it felt to be running yesterday. Well, jogging, but still. And I might be writing about dinner or the dentist appointment or drones or crazy Republicans.

Instead, I'm feeling cheated and lied to by that damned scale. And I'm in a snit. I believe I shall flounce away and pout for the rest of the day. At least until it's time to go walking.