Broken scale turns into cause for short-lived gastronomic celebration


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I stepped on the scale and saw the unexplained weight loss nearly every woman dreams of. I weighed 57 pounds. I knew that couldn’t possibly be right, so I stepped on it again.

Sure enough, 57 had been a bad read. The scale said I actually weighed 58.

Technically, I should be traveling in a car seat. That’s me, the one in the driver’s seat of an SUV strapped in a pink Cosco juvenile car seat with tilt recline and the side beverage cup holder.

The last time I weighed 58, I was probably in the fourth grade. I knew all my states and capitals then. I loved converting fractions, wrote a poem once a week, was a jump-rope champion, had legible handwriting and enjoyed recess twice a day.

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