Dear ridiculously accurate digital scale,

As you know, I normally love your brutal honesty in assessing my total weight. But I'm not really liking what you are showing me. To borrow some words from the immortal Cee Lo Green, I really hate your ass right now.

How can you give me perfectly respectable numbers during one part of the day (135) then jump me up to 139 later? WTF? Can we say indecisive?

Scale, I'm worried about you. I'm beginning to wonder if you have multiple personalities. Does your mean side want to see me face down in a bowl of chips and dip? That's just hateful, and I will not tolerate hatefulness.

So, scale. I'm putting you on probation. You are not going to see me for a little while, and if you do not shape up -- you're fired. I hear there's a trusty tape measure that is looking for work.

Love,

Me