Oh, yes. A WAR is brewing...

[persephone33]

I have a new enemy.

No, it isn't dolphins.  Or bunnies.  Or even my current nemeses of autumn, the effing squirrells who leave half-eaten shards of pecans all over the patio so that when I go out to feed her royal highness, Katie Bell, at dark thirty in the morning, I have do to a weird hop-dance thing and make noises that sound like I'm walking on hot coals.  (Wear shoes, you may suggest?  Shut up.  It's early, and I haven't even opened my eyes at this point.  Go solve your own problems.)

But I digress.  I've never had what you'd call a friendship, per se, with this entity, but for the past year or so, we've had a mutual respect, neither of us going too far out of the way to piss each other off.  This morning, though, the proverbial gauntlet, as it were, was thrown down so loudly, that it echoed through the house.

I am at war with the bathroom scale.  

I hadn't spent much time with him lately, and so maybe he was hurt that  he's been left to gather dust underneath the cabinet in the master bathroom.  I get that.  But this weekend, when I went into my closet and pulled out a pair of really cute chocolate brown capri pants from last fall, I was, let's say, concerned with the way I had to suck in to button them.  I sadly hung them back in the closet, and picked out another pair of pants (The size of which is a number I really don't care for), and went about the rest of the day.  This morning, after feeding the dog and dodging the pecans (!), I went into the bathroom to check the damage on mt feet and saw him lurking there, with kind of a smug look on his face.  I took him out, dusted him off, and smiled awkwardly at him.  After all, we hadn't spoken in months.  What was I supposed to say?  

I stepped on and stepped back off again so quickly it must've looked like I was burned.  My hands flew to my open mouth, horrified that he would betray me like that.  The conversation went something like this:

Me.  Have you gone off your meds?  Are you crazy?  This can't be right!

Bathroom Scale.  "..."

Me.  I'm going to try this one more time.  Maybe you're rusty from all those weeks off.  I'm sorry about that, by the way (Carrie laughs sheepishly)

Bathroom Scale.  "..."

(Carrie steps on, gasps in horror again and steps back off)

Bathroom Scale.  (sneers and laughs evilly)

Me.  Fine.  Fine.  It's on, then.  I'll own you by November.  Bitch.

Bathroom Scale.  (rolls eyes)

Nolan.  Who are you talking to?

Me.  (kicks bathroom scale back under the cabinet)  No one! 

And I will.  My stubbornness far outweighs (pardon the pun) his.  By Thanksgiving, He'll wish he'd never been so smug.
 

Comments

[persephone33.livejournal.com]

I can't let something with sensors, numbers and a smug attitide win!