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My Doctor

My doctor clears his throat. "You gained nine pounds, and your cholesterol is through the roof. Can you explain that?"

It's moments like these that make me think I'm dealing with a serial killer. I think I *can* explain the weight gain, but is this really necessary? As silence fills the room, I begin to understand that I need to cough up an itemized list of foods I've eaten recently.

So I offer my (edited) version.

Another silence--as if the room itself is saying, "I know you are lying." The doctor suggests that salmon would be a great choice. I nod with zeal. Problem solved!

"Hey, try to get up earlier. Spend more time on that exercise bike."

I'm tempted to respond. "Enjoy your weekend....but don't murder too many kittens....."

Instead, I wear a happy face--a face that is dreaming of many salmon entrees--and I leave the room.

 

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