For some time now, Leigh and I have understood that some ovens are "hot". A hot oven is warmer than it says it is. Our mom will still say, "This is a hot oven, put it at 325 degrees not 350". Somehow, even though the thermometer is working, our 350 degrees is hotter than another oven's 350 degrees. Hence the hot oven. We never brought up the hot oven thing until later in life when we started to make fun of her "theory". The bottom line is, the hot oven never interfered with delicious food; our mom can cook. To the entertainment of our husbands, Leigh and I catch ourselves asking "is this a hot oven?"
This matters because along with our hot oven theory, we live by a number of other scientific concepts. More destructive than the oven are inaccurate mirrors and scales. Skinny mirrors exist, but so do their evil counterpart, the fat mirror. You will be minding your business, trying on a pair of workout pants, when you turn to check out your rear and are confronted by a massive, unfamiliar ass staring back at you. It is not you, it's a fat mirror. There are certain stores, that depending on my mood, I will no longer use the fitting rooms because of the mirrors.
Recently Leigh made the grave error of buying a scale for her home. I don't know why she had to do it. If there is a scale, you will step on it, and no one should be doing that on the daily. I understand a monthly check-in, other than that you are participating in a losing battle. I never should have bothered with it, particularly after the showing I put on in December. I probably averaged two eggnogs a day for ten days straight. I left no stone unturned. I know I am heavy right now, I can tell because the seams of my jeans are working much harder. I did not need any other confirmation. Against my better judgement I stepped on Leigh's stupid new scale and it threw back a filthy number that I thought was impossible. After contemplating the last few scales I have been on and the way my clothing fit, I came to the conclusion that Leigh bought a "heavy" scale. It's not me, it's the scale.
My husband totally rejects my theories. He balks at my heavy scale assumption and mocks my hot oven claim. After my upsetting run in with Leigh's scale, I shared what happened with him. He laughed in my face and said "What's next, you are going to get pulled over for speeding and say, you don't understand Officer this car has a slow speedometer. Get a life."
He has a bad attitude, I know I am right on this one. Does anyone have a light scale I can borrow for the time being?Suggest a correction