The Scale Ritual Is Over. I Didn't Even Notice Until It Was Gone.

There is a choreography to stepping on a doctor's office scale that I have been performing for most of my adult life.

You know the one.

You arrive at the appointment wearing the lightest possible outfit you could justify. You've already done the mental math: did I drink coffee this morning? How much? Is this shirt heavier than it looks? Are these jeans the ones that feel lighter or the ones that feel like denim upholstery?

In the waiting room, you take stock. Earrings: out. Watch: off. Shoes: you're already calculating how fast you can get them off without looking like you're fleeing a crime scene.