Dear ME: The last time I used a regular bathroom scale, in 1965, I weighed 170 pounds. Due to the inconvenience of a plane crash later that day, I didn’t eat for a week. When I regained consciousness, my appetite disappeared along with every muscle in my lower body. Later I was told I weighed 130 pounds, but I never saw the scale since I was lying naked on a cold gurney at the time.

Since then I’ve regained my appetite, but have been searching for a place to weigh myself. About 30 years ago I found a rehab facility with a wheelchair scale, 70 miles roundtrip. I went there once a week, then once a month, and finally lost interest. Too far, too time-consuming. When I moved to a farm, I tried weighing with the cattle. This required lowering myself from my wheelchair, scooting on my butt through cow poop, then boosting my butt on to the cattle scale, where I got a semi-accurate weight. That lasted about as long as my shoulders did.

Ten years ago I found a laundry scale at a hospital. To weigh, I roll out my kitchen