I know there are a lot of women in this world who obsess over their weight. They weigh themselves all the time and carefully track weight loss or gain. We have a scale in our bathroom. It’s a fancy one too, but it doesn’t interest me nearly as much as the thermometer.
Every time I go into the bathroom I secretly take my temperature. It’s one of those electronic thermometers so it beeps when it’s ready. I don’t even think they make the mercury ones anymore. Anyway, if I think someone is anywhere near the bathroom door, I’ll run water in the sink so they won’t hear it beep.
Sometimes my temperature is a bit too low and sometimes it’s too high, but sometimes it’s like Baby Bear’s porridge was to Goldie Locks–just right. On those occasions I’ll walk out of the bathroom and make an announcement. “My temperature is bang on 98.6,” I’ll say excepting some sort of positive response possibly even a high five.
How is it that no one else seems to realize how important my temperature is? Don’t they know that body temperature is serious business? If your body temperature is consistently too low you could have low thyroid function. If it is consistently too high you could have a tiny alien blacksmith in your head pounding out horseshoes. Either way it’s not good.
If I feel like my temperature is running a wee bit high, I trick the thermometer by taking it out of my mouth as soon as it hits 98.6. Yes, I know that wasn’t my real temperature, but there’s something deeply satisfying about those numbers on the little gray screen.
When I decided to write this post this morning I decided to take my temperature and then take a picture of the thermometer to post. The only problem was my temperature was a troubling 97.9 which is not the magic number I’m looking for. After fretting about it for a while I realized that it probably has something to do with the ice cold cucumber salad I ate only minutes before sticking the thermometer in my mouth.