I've decided to have a love-hate relationship with the scales.
Typically, I don't weigh very often. I don't want to get discouraged if I've not lost as much I think I should have, which has sometimes gotten the best of me in the past. At best, I'll weigh in once every few weeks, and even then, it can only best be described as "a process."
First, I don't eat on the morning I plan to go weigh in. Food, after all, weighs something itself. I go work out as hard as I possibly can. I go to the doctor's office, where their grain scale won't creak and groan as I step on board. I kick my shoes off and take everything out of my pockets. On one memorable occasion, I did an honest to goodness striptease right there in the middle of the doctor's office.
I wear shorts when I weigh, and now that it's cold outside, I wear jeans or track pants over them. This time, I caught myself dropping trou in front of ... oh, I don't know ... five or six women. Sadly, nobody tossed money in my direction. Maybe if I lose a few more pounds, that might be a career option ...