She woke before dawn and pushed the cats aside to sit and let her feet find the chewed-up slippers on the floor beside the bed. After voiding her bladder, she stripped off her pajamas and, naked, approached the dreaded beast.
Holding her breath, she stepped onto the platform and looked down. The needle jerked spasmodically back and forth, finally found the place it wanted, and came to rest.
She gasped. After three days of high-carb, restaurant meals, one of those each day a sumptuous buffet, and missing her Fitbit goal for an entire week, the needle had not moved to the right at all. It nestled in the same spot it held the last time she ventured into the danger of the dial.
So, she did her happy dance, extending it in hopes of burning off an extra calorie or two. Life was good.