I approach the digital oracle with menacing eyes and pull it from its hiding place behind the dirty-clothes basket. Dreaded scale “Can you tell me my worth?” I carefully but quickly place the shiny landmine on the bathroom floor and stand back, seeking the courage that will reveal my fate, I mean weight. “O mighty oracle, be kind,” I silently plead, “let me not awaken the fiery Fat Gods, for their punishment is accordingly harsh. I cannot bear to see more or, worse, to be less.”

Don’t do it, my splendid self cries, you are perfectly Divine. “Yes, I reply, yes, but not here, you see. You call me from some other place where shapes are round and curve and move like liquid love. I live here not there. Here I cannot bear the threat of such a death, the loss of love, safety, and security. I must fight this certain death. I am a soldier of love. My appetites are the enemy, I must fight them all!” You are a warrior Goddess, fierce and true. I pay no heed, I trample instead over her incantation and courageously flick the edge of the silver beast with my big toe until it mocks me…reading zero. The cruelest reminder that I can only fail. Zero? Zero. That’s exactly nothing. No weight. Ah, the perfect weight… the perfect size. Perfect. Perfect?