Tricked by my scale

I weigh myself every morning. This is supposed to be a very unhealthy habit. For me, it is the only way to keep my weight in check.

A week or so ago, I had all of a sudden gained two kilo's. I'd just returned from a week in Poland, where I had seen a couply of restaurants too many from the inside. So I thought the extra two kilo's would disappear if I would just eat normal again and maybe went to the gym a little more often.

But the extra kilo's kept appearing on the screen of my scale. Maybe my metabolism was bailing out on me, I thought. I reduced the size of my meals. No result.

I started wearing my 'fat clothes'. I even ordered some new t-shirts and sweaters in a bigger size. I was convinced I was going to have to accept that I would never loose the weight.

Until my boyfriend stepped on the scale. He's had the same weight for over ten years now. Guess what? Two extra kilo's!

Still it didn't dawn on me.

Suddenly, while calculating my body mass index on a dull moment at work, it hit me. It was the scale! The damn thing had been flooded with water from the bath tub so often, the chances of it being broken were very high!

With a big smile, I bought a new scale. And lost 2,5 kilo in an instant. The extra half kilo I lost being a bonus from being tricked by my scale.

City of love and doubt

Gdansk is a beautiful city. I've visited my familie there every year for at least a week since I was two years old.

In those 27 years, the city has grown from a typical grey and gloomy socialist town into a colorful, vibrant and modern metropolis. We sort of grew up together.

The latest visit was filled with strolling around, visiting museums, making a boatride, shopping, going to the movies and eating a restaurants. (Tips: go to Sopot to take a walk on the pier and have dinner at U Dzika (pierogi) or Primitive (stekosaurus) - both on Piwna street in Gdansk's old town)

I loved the Nightwish-cappuccino they make at 'Mon Balzac', and really want a license plate with my name on it, too.

There still was a gloomy part about the visit, though. As a kid, I didn't notice, but as a grown up, I can't help but feel the distance between me and my Polish grandmother and uncle. They still seem to live in the Gdansk of 1982, while the rest of us are in the Gdansk of 2009.

That, combined with my almost non-existent Polish language skills, makes it difficult to really keep in touch. No matter how many miles we flew to see them, we're still miles apart.