Weighing In

I took a deep breath and let all the oxygen out of my lungs then stepped on the scale.

Because you know air weighs you down.

I sighed in disappointment and got off the scale.

I stepped back on.

Because you should always weigh yourself three times and then take the lowest weight. Sometimes, if I wiggle my foot into the right position, I'll drop a half a pound this way.

I looked at the numbers in shock.

I'd gained 6 lbs in two seconds.

There were only two reasonable explanations:

1. Some time between the time I stepped off the scale and when I stepped back on, the Doctor showed up in his TARDIS and invited me along for a trip which turned into ten wild adventures but then he had to erase my memories because of some sort of alien virus and he kindly returned me to seconds after he met me so I'd not be left confused as to what had happened in my absence. And, obviously, a few of those amazingly adventurous trips included jaunts to feasts and Italy where, obviously, I packed on some pounds.

2. My scale was broken.

I pondered the options for several minutes and realized I'd rather have the scale be broken than to have gained six pounds, though it was a tough choice because, you know, the Doctor.

Well, hell. Come to think about it, I'd much rather gain six pounds if it means adventuring with him.

Still, I thought it behooved me to get a new scale because unless the Doctor comes back, I have a solid few dozen pounds to lose at some point soon in order to be healthier and happier and more comfortable.

Keeping my fingers crossed he returns.