Let me explain. There is a (very evil) machine at my new workout place (at a local hospital, a perk of volunteering). It looks like a robot and when you step on it, it will tell you all kinds of information about your body -- height, weight, body fat and BMI. I know there are some freaks out there who could step off that machine totally happy with their numbers, but for the rest of us, there should be a Prozac dispenser affixed to drop out a couple of "happy pills" along with the bad news. And you know what the worst part is? It has the NERVE to give you a RECEIPT with all of that information on there! What, I'm going to start a scrapbook? Who invents these things?????
Funny thing... my first urge after getting the info about my fitness (or should I say fatness) was not to spend two hours sweating it off, but to go right down the hall to the cafeteria and drown my sorrows in french fries and hot chocolate (if you're thinking, 'THAT'S gross, I would never eat that together,' that simply means you haven't tried it). I thought it over, weighed the options (no pun intended... LOL), and grudgingly hit the butt shrinker (not sure what it's really called, probably something like the glute minimzer.... that just sounds SO impersonal!). For one day, at least, good triumphs over evil in my life.
Maybe one day I'll even go back. This time I'll stay away from the Fatness Robot! :)