By John Carlson—
I’m of that generation which, early in life, got used to being addressed by inanimate objects. Well, my kid sister Patty is, anyway.
Do I mean TV or radio? No.
I’m referring to a certain doll Patty received for Christmas one year. Was it Whizzy Wanda? Peein’ Petunia? Little Baby Poops-a-Scoop or something? No, wait! It was Betsy Wetsy! That was it!
Betsy Wetsy.
Hanging out together with their chapter of The Betsy Wetsy Fan Club, my sister and her girlfriends would fix their Betsy Wetsy dolls’ bottles before putting them down for naps. In no time, the contents of the bottles would trickle from their pouty little doll mouths through their plastic kidneys to their soggy play pants.
Then, as I recall, the girls would pull lanyards from the backs of their Betsy Wetsy dolls’ necks, which would erupt in mechanical comments like, “Guess who tinkled her trousers again, Mommy?”
Or maybe that was Chatty Cathy?
Who knows? Either way, after that, Patty and her pals would happily dry their dolls’ soggy bottoms before grabbing another bottle.
This highlighted a genuine difference between boys and girls back then. As a boy, I never understood the attraction, having always felt like I had enough of my own urine-related responsibilities to oversee without adding some doll’s. The point is, early on, Patty got used to an inanimate object conversing with her about make-believe urine, even if I didn’t.
Recently, Nancy and I have acquired another talented inanimate object, a fancy Detecto bathroom scale. I find it to be remarkable on a couple levels.
The first? We have owned a number of bathroom scales in the past, none of which has been capable of measuring one’s weight over 300 pounds, and we have taken great pains to stay that way. Sure, I am a trifle paunchy, but I’ve never been 300 pounds worth of a trifle paunchy. This was even during my quit-smoking years when, forsaking cigarettes, you never saw me without a Concannon’s jelly doughnut dangling from my lips.
But now?
The Detecto scale goes all the way up to 400 pounds!
It’s like it’s daring me to get that heavy, and it makes me wonder. Are the corporate titans of America’s bathroom-scale empire – men whose careers have been spent in the never ending battle against man-boobs – now saying, dude, feel free to put on another hundred pounds if you feel like it?
Who knows? But if so, who am I to argue?
Which I could do, by the way, because here’s the other notable thing about our brawny new bathroom scale.
It talks.
No, it hasn’t rapped its favorite numbers from the musical “Hamilton” for me yet. Technically all I’ve heard it say so far is my weight, plus “Good-bye” when I step off it. But if America’s cutting-edge bathroom scale research can make one that says “Good-bye,” the technical wherewithal is there for renegade bathroom scale employees to start making ones that get all bitchy when you step off and tell you, “Good riddance, tubby!”
Not that it’ll happen overnight. The scale will probably be friendly at first, suspecting nobody’s gonna take home a bathroom scale that’s some kind of mouthy jerk.
When you’re shopping for the scale, it might even try weaseling its way into your affections with lies about how great you look. “Wow, my friend,” the scale may tell you. “You must stand … what? A lanky five-foot six? At that height, you should be able to carry 400 pounds beautifully!”
Will the schmoozing continue when you get home?
Sure.
“Seriously, I’ve never seen such a nice bathroom as this! Is that shower curtain made of genuine vinyl? And look at that fancy two-ply toilet paper! None of those scratchy Russian sandpaper imports that make your buns bleed!”
But you’ll know the honeymoon’s over some morning when out of the blue, it greets you, “Hey! Moby Dick! Whatcha say we go a little easier on the Hostess Cupcakes this week?”
And things can only get worse with familiarity.
“Oh my lord, if you don’t tug on some pajama bottoms right now I’m gonna hurl!” a scale might threaten.
But, of course, things will eventually work out, with the scale figuring it might as well clean up its act. A grudging respect may even grow between the scale and its owner, who as a friendly gesture might end up greeting it each morning like a favorite dog.
“Hey there, Freddy! Awww, who’s a good scale?”
“Howdy, boss,” the talking Detecto scale might even reply, letting bygones be bygones. And with nobody else to crowd the bathroom in the morning, the owner may even start to think of Freddy as an outright friend. You’ll know you’ve passed a real turning point in your scale relationship the first morning it commiserates with you.
“Much going on today, buddy?”
“Nope,” Freddy will note. “Hopefully much coming off.”
John’s weekly columns are sponsored by Beasley & Gilkison, Muncie’s trusted attorneys for over 120 years.
About Beasley & Gilkison
We listen, analyze your unique situation, and prepare a course of action that best fits your needs. Contact one of our attorneys to schedule a consultation, or for more information, call 765-289-0661 or visit our Facebook page or website at beasleylaw.com.
A former longtime feature writer and columnist for The Star Press in Muncie, Indiana, John Carlson is a storyteller with an unflagging appreciation for the wonderful people of East Central Indiana and the tales of their lives, be they funny, poignant, inspirational or all three. John’s columns appear on MuncieJournal.com every Friday.
