I left my company’s summer barbecue last night with a mild beer buzz, compliments of the free drinks tickets kindly provided by HR. Michael wanted to stop at Walmart on the way home to return some shelving he had bought for the basement.

Walmart gets a bad rap. True, interesting people work there and yes, there are issues with the corporation as a whole, but people…Walmart has EVERYTHING. I’m not kidding. Need an inflatable chair? Walmart. A 100 piece box of multi-colored paper clips? Walmart. The entire Scunci hair accessories line? Wal.Mart.

When Michael mentioned the trip I thought of three things I needed. Tampons, eye makeup remover and body wash. That’s it. Three things. Make a note of that.

The fluorescent lights stung my eyes and stirred up the fuzzy feeling in my head as we walked in the door. We exchanged the shelving and headed down the aisles to find my items and the few essentials Michael had put on his list.

By the time we reached the back of the store we had in our cart–in addition to my three items and his toiletries–paper towels, a DVD player, two CDs, two giant storage containers, a Hershey’s bar and a Kit Kat.

And then I found myself standing in front of the bathroom scales. One was out of the box, sitting on the floor taunting me. So I did the stupidest thing a girl can possibly do after consuming a barbecue dinner and multiple beers while wearing all her clothes and her shoes.

I got on the scale.

Cue meltdown. The scale said I was ten pounds heavier than I thought I was. Ten pounds! While trying to not to cry I started yelling at Michael. “I’m fat! Oh my god, I’m fat! Look at the scale! What the hell?!”

Michael, always the calm and rational one, rolled his eyes and said, “You are not fat. That scale was out of the package and probably broken.”

I whimpered and kicked it with my toe. And then I did the second stupidest thing a girl can do after consuming a barbecue dinner and drinking multiple beers while wearing all her clothes and her shoes.

I bought a scale.

This morning, fresh out of the shower and stark naked (gasp!), I got on the brand new scale. I was exactly where I thought I should be. Thank goodness.

Lesson of the day? Never go to Walmart after drinking. You will leave with a contraption that tells you how fat you are and with $120 less in your bank account.