"Dining room" hardly describes the room that I spend the majority of my non-sleep time in when I'm home. Officially, yeah, it's a dining room. But it's also my "office." And the kids' "art room." Since I've been doing that eBay thing, it's also the official "mailing center."
I finally got a clue and moved the scales from the laundry room -- which, incidentally, is also known as the "dog crate room," the "Diet Coke bought on sale storage room" and the "place to dig for spare change fished from the washer and dryer when I'm in need of a quarter to buy a Pencil Pal room" -- up to the "mailing center." [Thank you, my beloved Pete, for suggesting it. Yes, you are da bomb!]
Get this, though:
Weighing a box of
useless junk worthless crap treasure to mail to some lucky buyer, I discover that the box and I weigh 59.6 pounds. I tried it three times. Then I got on the other scale, and I discovered that the box and I weigh 59.3 pounds. [That was always my favorite scale.]
I cannot explain it. The scale was put in several different places throughout the dining room. I have not weighed 59.3 pounds -- nor 59.6 pounds -- for at least four decades. Anybody got an explanation for this?
[Please, I'm too NaNoWriMo to research a plausible reason, so if there is a well known scientific reason for this that even a fifth grader knows, keep the ridiculing to a minimum. I know, I know, I must be an airhead.]
[Photo courtesy SignNetwork.com.]