Friday I was having a lousy day. I weigh myself every Friday morning and this week the scale didn't move. I decided that it must be my old spring scale. Off to Walmart I go. I'm dressed in wide leg yoga/lounge pants. Something I never wear out of the house. I big teeshirt and Patriots sweatshirt about 10 sizes too big. Not very flattering I assure you. I pull into a space and a young man backs his little matchbox pickup into the space next to mine. Now we try to open our doors at the same time which wont work. I motion to him to go first. He gets out and closes his door and heads to the front of his truck. I open my door and catch my shoe in my pant leg. I then fall out of my SanteFe onto the ground. Now that's bad enough in itself but my pocketbook opens up and money starts flying around. About $150 in small bills from LE's girl Scout cookies. So I throw myself on my stomach to keep the bills from sailing away. I look like a crack dealer trying to grab her stash back. My brand new cell phone skids to a stop under this guy's truck. He starts yelling "Mam are you ok?" and rushes to my aide. Ok he called me mam. Have I gotten that old that I'm now a mam to twenty somethings? So I tell him that only my pride is hurt but I need to get my daughters gs cookie money picked up. He is polite enough to point out that my cell is under his truck. I tell him I'll get it as soon as the money is back in my pocketbook. He looks at me then at his truck and says "Why don't I get it for you. " This is funny because the truck is really little and very low to the ground. I guess he figured there was no way my ass was going to fit under his truck. He was small about 5'4 and 140 maybe. SO he lays down and gets my cell for me. Needless to say I wanted to DIE right there in the Walmart parking lot. I wasn't hurt but felt like an idiot. But I brush myself off and go in the store. I get my new digital scale and head home. I pull it out of the box set it like the directions said to and climb on. The f--cking thing tells me I weigh 13lbs more than my old scale does. I get LE to get on both. Her weight is the same. I call Marty out into the kitchen. Low and freakin' behold they say the same thing. But me, nope 13 freakin' lbs more. Needless to say that sucker is back in the box and going back to Walmart. This time no yogapants. This fat diva doesn't want to end up on the ground again. Oh and if the guy had been really studly I would have played dead until the EMT's got there. That way I wouldn't have to face him.