While I do tend to worry about carrying a few extra pounds*, I don’t make a habit of regularly tracking my actual weight numerical weight. Checking in every couple of months is plenty for me.

I tend to worry more about displacement than I do about gravity’s pull. Like most tall endomorphic types, I’m more likely to find a chair that won’t accomodate my large frame than one that won’t support my weight.

In any case, for whatever random reason, my hotel room for the week has a bathroom scale in it. Upon weighing myself for kicks, I found it reporting about twenty pounds less than the last time I weighed myself a few months ago.

I should be happy about this, but, despite the fact that I’ve been generally eating well and walking a lot more for the last year or so, I quickly began to doubt the result. I think I’d have noticed my clothes fitting differently after dropping the weight of my youngest child over the course of three or four months.

I have yet to confirm or deny the validity of the scale’s claim, though I suspect it might be a specially calibrated “hotel” scale designed to flatter the guest’s vanity.

Admittedy ridiculous, this conspiratorial theory gained some anecdotal weight when the hotel staff gave me one of these as part of my platinum membership welcome gift.

A quarter-pound cookie. Seriously. The nutritional information on the wrapper designates one serving as “one quarter cookie”, with a calorie count of 130 per serving. For those doing the math, that’s a single cookie with over FIVE HUNDRED CALORIES.

It’s almost five inches in diameter; I’m kind of afraid of it.

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* – I’m not so much bothered by how “heavy” I am, though I do obsess about how morbidly obese I look (which I’m pretty sure is a sensitivity borne from my awkward husky pants childhood). My wife gets many a laugh out of the fact that I’m much more likely to ask “does this outfit make me look fat?” that she would be.