The night before last I put on a pair of pink Soffe shorts that I’ve had for five years and all of a sudden in the last week decided to be horrifically small.
I cried about this for a while, and then last night I bought a scale.
But it was hard to find. I walked through Target carrying a box of wine and a bag of dog bones, asking everyone wearing a red shirt where the scales were.
This struck me as a sad combination of things to be purchasing in one Target run.
Not only were the scales hard to find, but also were people wearing red shirts.
There was one guy who just happened to be wearing a red shirt and did not seem to work there, but I acted happy to see him at least three times. He acted afraid.
I wandered around the bedroom section for a while and found a silver fox who I’m pretty sure is the older man from Target ads. I did not, however, find any scales.
Then I went to the electronics section because I knew a red shirt would be there, guarding the things that cost more than $30 and have to be unlocked with a key.
He told me to go to aisle D30.
The man he had been helping before I appeared with my wine and bones offered me a nearby stray cart. I told him thanks, but what I had in my arms was all I was getting.
He winked at me.
I fled to aisle D30, which I quickly learned was the bedding section, where the scales were not, but where the silver fox still was.
Next, I went to the deodorant aisle and interrupted a red shirt who appeared to be doing inventory.
He told me aisle D36, and I was skeptical.
He said they were on an endcap, and I was grateful that I work in advertising and therefore know what an endcap is. I was still skeptical, though, so he accompanied me to D36, where the scales were on an endcap and the silver fox now was also.
As the silver fox watched me, I considered my options and selected the analog $7.99 scale. Because I am poor and also have to begin worrying about my weight apparently.
I decided to name the scale Scaley because its “easy-to-clean white ribbed mat” makes it look scaly and also because “Scaley” makes it sound more like an old pal of mine rather than a device that is going to repeatedly tell me how much of a failure I am at maintaining my high school weight.
Scaley lives in my bathroom now. I stood on it last night long enough to find that I’ve gained ten pounds in the last few months, and then I broke into that box of wine.
In retrospect, it was a very strategic combination of things to purchase, indeed.