I’d gained too many extra pounds. The bathroom scales don’t lie. So, I planned to
quiz my doctor, though I knew the reason why.
I waited in his office, nervous as a blind polecat. Would the good ole doctor say,
“You’ve gone from plump to just plain fat?”
It seemed pert near an hour. I was looking for the gate. When the doctor looked
me in the eye, said, “Time to lose some weight.”
I gave a sympathetic look and said, “You look just fine. That tire around your
belly, well, it ain’t as round as mine.”
The doctor showed no sense of humor, would not crack a smile. I wondered if he
knew me, hadn’t seen him for a while.
The doctor shot a sideways look, then wrinkled up his brow. He said, “You need
convincing ‘cuz you’re fatter than a cow.”
For sure I had that coming. I’d been messing with his mind. But calling me a fat
old cow was simply most unkind.
He could have said, “Your stomach’s growing, looking mighty full. It won’t be long
you’ll be mistaken for your neighbor’s bull.”
Or maybe if he’d said, “You know that six pack in your gut? It’s hanging down so
low at first I thought it was your butt.”
And calling me a cow is kinda feminine to boot. But, putting on the pounds is one
I really can’t dispute.
So, the doctor offered fine suggestions. Said, “Cut back the food. And get a little
exercise. Your soul will feel renewed.”
It’s a bitter pill to swallow when you pay for you mistakes. I guess I’ve had too
many chocolate cherry ice cream shakes.
I’ll hammer out the exercise and hope to feel “Renewed.” But keep the wagon
waiting boys. I’ll prob’ly need rescued.