Fat in the Head

Arriving home from work, I discover what looks to be a yard sale in my front yard. Frames, mirrors, and appliances literally litter the lawn (ooh, a-litter-ation!). Apparently, Shea has just completed a moving gig, and his client allowed him to keep all of the items ey no longer wanted, so my housemates are sorting through the treasures on the grass.

One of these treasures is a scale. I enjoy living without a scale, because having one results in extremely self-conscious people. Suddenly, two pounds one way or the other, which is often dependent on when one last went to the bathroom, becomes a big deal. I prefer my current approach of weighing myself every few months for an update rather than fixating on my current status. But when the scale is there - in plain sight - it's nearly impossible to resist.

After scolding others for freaking out over minor weight gain, I take my turn to step on the scale and immediately scream in panic. I'm expecting an increase of three pounds. Five, maybe. According to the scale, though, I've gained more than fifteen pounds. How can I put on that much weight and not notice my body change?

As I'm being that same scale-user I hate in other people, Shea points out, "Kevin, you're still holding your stuff." Being the genius that I am, it never occurred to me that holding two bags full of things, including two hefty textbooks, would throw off the scale. I drop my bags and find my weight to be exactly where I knew it to be at months ago.

I should have known there's no way I could be that heavy: I clearly don't have any brains.