I almost never step on the scale. I refuse to, unless it's first thing in the morning, after the first pee of the day, I've pooped recently and I'm guaranteed the lowest possible number. And still, I've mentioned here before how that number never, ever changes.

So anyway, since perfect scale conditions are usually met at 4:30 am, and since I very rarely remember to do anything at 4:30 am, much less strip down to my birthday suit to get on the scale, I don't get weighed very often. Still, I have one of those fancy schmancy scales that measures body fat and hydration, too. Since pretty much none of these numbers ever budge, I'm not getting all neurotic about it.

Then, yesterday morning I got on the scale, and to my surprise, I'd lost 10 lb! Dear lord, when did this happen? I was incredulous. When was the last time I weighed myself? Two weeks ago? Three? This can't possibly be right. I got on and weighed myself again: I lost another 2 lb. No, that's DEFINITELY not right. If the choice was between believing that the $60 scale was broken or that I'd lost 10... no 12 lb, then I'd believe I'd lost weight. I got on again, Phew, back to the higher, lower weight.

I certainly don't feel any smaller. And who cares what the scale says if I STILL don't have a 6-pack. Every morning I get dressed in front of the mirror to see if maybe this is the day that I'll be able to see my abdominals. I flex and twist this way and that, try to find the perfect ratio of shadow to light, and still, no 6-pack. This must be karma for never caring if I had boobs when I was a teenager. I can feel that it's in there, I poke at it all the time, as if to say, Hey, I know you're in there. Why don't you come out so we can be friends.

Yes, this is really what I do with my time before work...

Someday I won't need to draw on my tummy to see my six pack. And when that day comes, I will take my shirt off and never put it back on again.