Friday, Aug. 22, 2003 - 4:29 p.m.

8:13 a.m. I realize getting onto the bathroom scale is more of a production number associated with Broadway then that of a man simply curious about the weight of his mass. My ritual, complete with rules and regulations, has more steps than even the most OCD inflicted individual would ever be willing to undertake. My personal guide book comes complete with directions and a listing of infractions that would not merely prevent me from weighing myself but would absolutely forbid the thought of it no matter how desperate the need for an ego boost or want of additional self-degrading material.

8:14 a.m. As I continue to gaze at my, top of the line, Tanita personal bathroom scale complete with body fat monitor I consider how much weight I most likely have gained whilst on vacation and query whether any good would come from knowing the exact number today, this morning, or right now.

8:15 a.m. Unfortunately, once the scale has been spotted the process, as per page two paragraph one of the rule book, takes on a life of its own and I become a slave to a series of operations and prescribed procedures resulting in the analytical diagnosis of my gross heftiness.

8:16 a.m. My only hope for escaping the truth this morning is to justly qualify for a breach from course of action that would otherwise require me to step up and step on. In my minds eye I quickly scan the manual and subsequent addenda and riders. Normally I can circumvent the weigh-in due to constipation but his morning I�ve been betrayed by regularity. Other outs that would otherwise lend an unfair advantage to the scale include having had an unusually late dinner, having partaken in food or water since awaking, already showered, in serious need of a haircut, shave and or nail clipping.

8:17 a.m. Unable to qualify for a legitimate waiver of the daily weigh-in I am left with no choice but to align the scale precisely atop the designated markers assuring a limitation of variables thereby increasing factual conclusions based on consistent and reliable data. That said and done I strip naked, exhale all breath and mount the scale, left foot then right, to learn the truth.

8:18 a.m. After repeating the weighing three times, averaging the results and taking into consideration the age and usage of the scale I confirm what I had feared yet suspected. I�m a fatty. A fatty jonesing for a Starbucks Maple Oat Nut Scone.

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