For years my wife has complained that our bathroom scale is inaccurate.
"Just because you don't like what it tells you doesn't mean it's wrong," I'd tell her.
I finally decided to get a new scale, one with a digital readout that would be easier to read. It also has a feature that determines your body fat. No, really. You program in your body measurements, and little electrodes on the surface of the scale send a current through your body that determines fat.
I'm not just trusting the package's claims on this; several third-party consumer-oriented sources I checked said, yes, they can actually do that.
Well, it turns out our old scale WAS wrong. It weighs THREE POUNDS LESS THAN IT SHOULD.
Dammit, dammit, dammit.
We took our cats to the vet last week for their annual checkup.
I thought I'd better warn the vet and his assistant that Lucy bites. The last time we were there, the assistant had to stick a plastic anal probe up her rectum to get some kind of sample, and Lucy bit her.
Wouldn't you? I mean, having a long plastic spoon up your butt is reason enough to bite.
The vet staff approached our cat with caution, which is amusing considering she's 17 years old, weighs nine pounds and has arthritis.
She didn't bite, and I felt a little ridulous about warning them.