I broke my scale yesterday morning. Waaaaaa. I didn't think to mention it to the hubs, as I am the main user of it.
After work yesterday I had to run an errand, which meant I would be late preparing dinner. Trying to help expedite things, David called and asked if I wanted him to slice the onions for the tomato pie. Onions make me cry like a baby and don't bother him much, so he is the Onion Slicer in the family. I was thankful he was planning ahead (or his tummy was) and I told him sure, slice about a pound. When I got home and went into the kitchen to start sautéing the onions, there was a HUGE pile on the scale. Had to be at least 2 or 3 pounds. I lifted it and said "Wow, that looks - and feels! - like way more than a pound. " It was then I realized he had been using the broken scale. I told him I had broken the scale that morning. He proudly announced that he had realized it was broken but had fixed it. I was still staring at the huge pile of onions, but I could feel him behind me beaming at his accomplishment. Then he said, "I wondered why the needle hardly moved on the scale."