Today was like any other day with one exception: I had my annual physical. Now, obviously that entails leaving my car in a parking deck in a spot I don’t remember, wondering to myself how much each doctor makes before taxes as they pass by me, and reading a magazine for the first time since my last physical. What it also meant was getting weighed.
Listen, I was not scared going into the weighing. After all, I’ve been exercising. I stopped weighing myself months ago after cleaning off pound after pound, and felt good. I expected that total on the other end of the scale to read 180. Boom. Pow. Easy. So imagine my f***ing surprise when it rings up 193.
Are you shitting me? I mean sure, despite all of my cardio, I sneak an occasional six cookies per day. Big whoop. Oh, and the 10 beers on Saturdays, but I was by the pool, so those don’t really count. It was like getting to the checkout at the grocery store anticipating a low total because you got the store-brand noodles but forgetting you also got three candles and a pair of ribeyes eliciting a total thrice your expectation.
But still. Thirteen pounds? What was I going to do now? Well, my doctor had a recommended altering of my fried chicken, chocolate chip cookie, Tropicalia, Pop Tarts regimen: mix in salads.
Are you kidding me? Salads? What a quack. Honestly, in retrospect, I thought all the degrees on her wall was a bit tacky. But hey just because she went to college, then medical school, then worked in hospitals shadowing seasoned doctors before becoming a licensed doctor doesn’t mean she knows what she’s talking about regarding human health. The other day, my cousin Marty posted on Facebook that Bud Lights are practically water and I remember from biology class in ninth grade that water is 95 percent of the body, so basically those beers are nothing.
And she’s talking to me about salads? How do we know if those are even safe? I mean, what are the long-term effects of salads? I think it’s too early to say. Chocolate chip cookies have a 99.9 percent survival rate (RIP my guinea pig Tony), so what do I need to worry about anyway?
What type of studies have we seen on salads? Pizza has been around for thousands of years and now salads pop up in what, the last century? What’s the hurry? Just so ‘big salad’ can get rich? WAKE. UP. Until the KFC approves and regulates salads for the general population, I’m not going to trust it.
I even read on thisisalltotallylegitandrealstuff.blogspot.com that Paul Newman put nanobots in his dressing. Wow, really makes you think. I don’t know what a nanobot is, but my neighbor had a nana growing up, and she would hit the shit out of him with a shoe when he would take the Lord’s name in vain. So I want an angry grandma robot in my blood stream? Uhhhh yeah, NO THANK YOU.
One of my friends is a food blogger and influencer and she had the cajones to put a post up that says, “tried this yummy salad at the place by my work! I highly recommend it!” Um. How about you keep your “recommendations” away from MY body, OK? Whether or not to eat salads is a personal nutritional choice between me, my family and the fifth doctor I eventually went and saw because the first four all said I should try salads and the fifth one wasn’t really a doctor but rather just a guy outside my building I call doctor because I see him selling pills a lot from my window. And he said, and I quote, “don’t eat salads if you don’t want, I don’t care, but could you get the hell out of here, I’m trying to run a business here.” Compelling stuff.
If that wasn’t enough, I actually turned on my TV tonight and there was a commercial about, you guess it, salads. So now the mainstream media is involved in this? How far will this go? If you want to eat a salad, fine, that’s your choice, we’ll see who is healthier five years from now. But don’t you dare keep pushing this on me. This should be a personal choice, OK?
This podcast I listen to even said tomato farms are funded by Skeletor. Hmm OK so now we are supposed to support Skeletor and the planet of Primus and just be OK with it. This was all an inside job and I just won’t trust it until the celebrities I hand-picked to agree with me say it’s OK on Instagram.
If that isn’t the worst part, my company is mandating our department eats healthier all because our insurance is apparently going up if no one abides by better diets. Um, what do I need a job for? Other than money for a mortgage and food, a way to justify four years of college, and overall self-esteem?
What matters most is that I dig my heels in and make a stand about a minuscule change in my lifestyle that will greatly affect my personal health.