Our hotel room in Mexico had scales in the bathroom.
Who the hell weighs themselves, while they’re on vacation?
I’ll tell ya who does? Jake does.
Late into the first day, Jake said, “Hey babe, hop on the scale and see how much you weigh. I weighed myself. Let’s see if you really gain weight while you’re on vacation.”
I was all…”FUCK THAT! I don’t need that shit right now…I’m on vacation. It takes every ounce of confidence I can muster to get my fat ass in a bathing suit and parade these thighs down the beachfront, there is no freaking way I’m getting on a scale. Unless, you’re cool with sitting right here listening to me bitch and moan because I’m too fat to get in the suit. You cool with that?”
“Just do it,” he said.
Don’t even ask me what I weighed…I’m not telling. It was a three digit number, and that’s all you need to know.
So, we ate drank, and were merry, and I all but forgot about those god forsaken scales for the rest of our trip.
The last day, before checkout, I was reminded by them, while weighing our bags, to make sure they were under the 50 pound mark.
The bags were…me, notsomuch!
Jake said, “Oh yeah! Let’s weigh to see if we gained. I’ll go first.”
“Dude…you’re ridiculous. Do you think this is fun?”
“Oh look…I lost three pounds while we were here,” Jake reported.
“REALLY?! Let me see, you metabolic freak! I hate you!”
“Quit hatin’,” Jake tried to make me feel better, “you probably lost, too. It was probably all the hiking we did that day at XPLOR. Get on.”
“Yeah…maybe,” I replied, as I hesitantly stepped on the scales.
The scales settled on a number…a number FOUR POUNDS HIGHER than the number it settled on, my first day in the room.
Jake erupted, “BWAHAHAHAHAHA…I lost three pounds, and you found ALL of it!!! AND…a pound of someone else’s!!!! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”
“Are you done?” I glared. “What a stupid effing idea that was!!”
As I recount this story….there is no wonder where my libido has gone, for, I left it on the scales at the hotel, whilst being laughed at by my husband!!