Just smashing

I tend to say, "Oooooooooo, that just makes me want to smash something," frequently enough that I thought I should explain it here. In case you actually ever hear me say I want to smash something. And then you'll know you don't really need to run in the other direction. Most likely.

I started saying it years ago after my sister called to talk about a job she was pursuing. Through the interview process, she'd been given a packet of materials, including one of those personality tests some employers like you to fill out. Well, she read me some of the questions, and we couldn't help but laugh at them. It seemed like they were written in order to ensure that everyone but bona fide psychopaths would sail through with flying colors.

Of course, it has been so long now since we joked about it that I can't remember the exact question that set us off, but it was written something like this:

7. Shortly after arriving at your work station one morning, you realize your stapler is sitting on your coworker's desk. You know it is your stapler because you wrote your full name on it with a Sharpie. However, you do not recall your coworker asking to use your stapler. So, upon seeing this, you:

a. realize the entire office is plotting against you.
b. vow to prank call your coworker. At home. Nightly.
c. politely ask for your stapler the next time you need it, and calmly tell your coworker he/she may borrow it at any time.
d. want to smash something.

And, so, my fondness for saying, "Well, THAT makes me want to smash something," was born. Honestly, it has kept me from swearing on more than one occasion. Although there is the troublesome issue of having to explain that I don't really intend to break a vase over anyone's head, it does help me alleviate my frustration most of the time.

Unfortunately, it didn't help much this morning.
I stepped on the scale a day early.
And by the time the thought, "Now, I want to smash something," went through my head, getting a hammer from Paul's toolbox and using it to shatter the scale's digital display seemed like a fairly rational act.

Once a month, I get pretty annoyed about being a woman. Especially when I'm trying to lose weight. It's like an entire week gets canceled out by hormones and bloat. It's just plain old not fair.

And, yes, I know, logically, that the scale went up due to factors beyond my control. I ate well, and I exercised 6 out of 7 days. But, knowing that I can't really change much about the number on the scale doesn't make it any easier to shrug it off. It's like having my stapler just sitting there, over on someone else's desk. Not in it's own spot. Not with its rightful owner!

It's really about the proper order of things. You do X, you get Y.
You borrow a stapler, you put it back.
You exercise and eat well, you lose weight.

Clearly, my body did not get this week's memo about following the proper procedures.

Oh, and the correct answer, obviously, was D.