Sweaty Betty

Our weighing machine has a mind of its own. It is cranky to say the least. When you go to it with lot of hope, it will make it a point to disappoint you, like it is wholly aware of its powers to create dismay. On some days when I return from my workout and come to it with lot of pleas, it appears to indulge me. Last few weeks I have been working out (either in classes or running) quite regularly having been inspired by Haruki Murakami's book on running, fitness and its general benefits. I came back and stood on the scales without giving it much of a thought. And like good news that comes when you least expect it, it showed a beautiful number, which is what I weighed back in college. Now I am ahem... lets just say few kgs heavier. My head was reeling though some part of my brain reminded me of the ice creams I had unapologetically consumed on a regular basis (it is summer after all). I moved the machine to a different location before I decided to get myself tested for diabetes. And it showed me my normal weight. That moment, I could have strangled with my bare hands the bloody idiots who laid our floors.