On Scales and Pillboxes

Two objects I hate with a passion are scales and pillboxes. The reason for the former is obvious, it being the first to herald the fact that I have overindulged in food. (Your friends may tell you that you haven’t changed, but that little floor ornament never lies.) Whatever the indulgence, it only takes one or two times to shoot that already dreadful number to the next higher digit.

At least, before the advent of digital scales, I could cheat a little by adjusting the spring in the back or by bending slightly to the right to make it read one or two pounds lighter. And, it’s not news to anyone that it takes a week or more of painful dieting to see it take even a slightly downward path.

Hating scales everyone understands, but why hate pillboxes? I guess it’s because every time I find one that accommodates the number of pills that I’ve been ordered to take, the doctor adds yet another making that particular pillbox too small. And much like the scale, it reminds me that something else is not quite what it used to be.

I can’t remember ever seeing a pillbox in my bubbie’s house. A box for saccharine tablets maybe, but not one for pills. As a matter of fact, except for an aspirin, I don’t remember seeing her take any pills at all. Sometimes I wonder if I’m lucky to be living in times that have all these wonderful "cures" for what ails you or if Bubbie was better off. After all, without benefit of pills or pillboxes, she lived to be 90.

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