Apparently though I have unwittingly put a half century of wrinkles & regret on my calloused hide, so of course it was high time to subject myself to being poked and prodded by aliens in white coats with boney cold hands. Since I had not been in for a personal tune-up in a number of years they attacked me with triangular shaped rubber hammers, lights, needles, and narrowed eyes of concern, which is surprisingly similar to how I eat a cheap steak.
Except for overloading a freight elevator and fending off a devilish billing clerk donning a pitchfork pen and fiery torch, for a foot-dragging cadaver, most of my nuts and bolts seemed to have descended properly. Good fortune reigned supreme since I wore socks without holes and underwear so new and fresh that it doubled as my napkin at lunch. Overall my health bank account seems to still be in the black or that might just be my toenails and teeth doing the talking to the blind bookkeeper?
Though the long-term prognosis of my real BILL of health looks fine, the Doctor said, if I continue to deep fry, sugar dip, and consume ALL of the five food groups daily, I will finally make my parents proud by actually testing ‘ABOVE average’ for a change. Despite my mental faculties being young and as sharp as any seven year old, I think it’s clear my chronological age means I soon must consider the frightening prospect of the big ‘C’ too! Yes it’s time to pay the piper , face my fears, and quit turning my back on good health – well maybe I will turn my back on it just one more time … since tomorrow’s my COLONOSCOPY!
