I was in a lot of pain for about a week or so. It was probably some nefarious stomach virus since I have yet to (disappointedly) produce an alien from my abdomen.
The wife suddenly became religious and said it was a sign from some unidentified alternate realm telling me to eat healthier.
My food pyramid loosely looks something like this, give or take a bowl of watermelon since it’s summertime.
I was fortunate enough to have the illness coincide with my wife’s stay-at-home vacation so that she was able to ensure that I ate appropriately. My pyramid morphed into something like this:
I only swallowed air when necessary as a substitute for “Here. Have some more lemon water. It’s good for you.”
To be fair, I was on a no fat, no caffeine diet per doctor’s orders, but that still doesn’t justify attempting to feed me wet tofu.
I’m feeling much better these past few days. Wife believes it’s the change in diet, of course. She’s going to be eating crow (low in fat) if the precautionary ultrasound the doctor ordered does indeed show the silhouette of a small, bald extra-terrestrial.
When I went for the ultrasound my age showed up everywhere on the paperwork. It was a bit jarring. It’s one thing to verify your birthdate or say your age out loud. It’s a whole other thing to witness your age in bold print everywhere, especially when you’re having a medical something done because your body recently tried to disown you.
So, I’ve agreed to continue life on this planet (for the time being) without any caffeine, mostly because I’m over 40, which means no diet soda until I’m convinced my body can handle it or until my age drops.
I figure if I stay away from the diet soda for a month it will become a habit and then I can risk it every once in a while. Maybe. It’s conceivable that I’m looking at nothing but hot lemon water and Bengay from now on.
If you need me, I’ll be researching bean curd alternatives.