The Toilet Seat Scale… Seriously.

haikun3.jpgDisclaimer: This article is about a toilet seat scale. I’m going to get pretty mother-effing personal here. So if you don’t want to hear it, go read this week’s “Overheard on Campus” or “How You Do,” and get your CC fix there. Hell, feel free to read my Gossip Girl recap and comment on that.

Yup, they’ve thought of it. The toilet seat scale. In case you don’t have time to stand up and wait about three seconds for your weight to show up. You can kill two birds with one stone by checking your weight and peeing out your recommended eight daily glasses of water at the same time. And everyone knows, we Americans love to multi-task.

That was my initial reaction to the news of the toilet seat scale.

But then I got to reading about the inspirations for the TSS.  Poor, naive, non-toilet-humor sharing little me didn’t consider the fact that this was actually created for consumers who might want to see how much weight they lose each time they relieve themselves.  It makes sense, but I’m a bit uncomfortable with that.  Sure, there are times when I’m at a seedy bar and refuse to risk getting the clap from the bathroom stall, and wait to get home to piss out approximately three gallons of beer.  And there are times when I indulge in some Olive Garden or Taco Bell and some unladylike shizz goes down in the bathroom.  It doesn’t help that I tend to get bladder (and bowel)-shy around people I don’t know and have to hold it for long periods at times, and at the end of those excruciating intervals, yes, I feel like I’ve lost about five pounds.

But do I actually want to know?  I don’t think that’s necessary.  Besides, one of the criticisms of the TSS is that it’s an open invitation to struggling bulimics.  Can you imagine that locker room convo? “I just puked up three pounds of Sushi.  You?”  Gross.

So, if its a convenience factor, I say bring it on.  Build a scale into the tiles immediately in front of my bathroom sink so I can check my weight at a glance while I brush my teeth.  But I’m perfectly content to refrain from monitoring how much skinnier I become after taking a massive dump, and I certainly don’t want to find out that when I “drop the kids at the pool,” I’m talking about quintuplets.

My personal consumer’s conclusion? Thanks, but no thanks, Toilet Seat Scale.

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