Snoozin’ with the Stiffs

Somber was the tone of the day for us Fat Folk, here in the Fat Cave. Earlier this week, our long-time friend, Arnie, passed away. His Viewing was this afternoon.

Arnie was a musician with a long and successful history. Yet, we’ll never find any of his work on iTunes nor in any music store.

His career began as a drummer for the USMA Band in West Point. After college, he drifted down the Hudson River and landed in the Big Apple. There, he became a session musician and performed with many bands and musical acts. He was well known among the Apple’s Show Folk.

One day, opportunity came calling. Arnie answered and soon found himself in Tinsel Town working as Babs Streisand’s manager. It didn’t take him long to realize this was no place for him.

So, Arnie loaded up his truck and moved from Beverly, Hills that is. He drove Eastward until he came to Charm City. The City charmed him into staying and putting down roots. He landed a management job with the Charm City Symphony. The Sympony’s move from its old Music Hall into the new Charm City Symphony Center was in part his baby.

Arnie’s favorite style of music was Jazz. He loved to listen to Jazz and he loved to talk about Jazz. But, most of all, he loved to play Jazz music. He was quite the accomplished Jazz drummer. His hands were always in motion whenever he discussed Jazz, just as if he were playing an invisible drum set.

This afternoon, as I walked about the Viewing Room, I saw photo after photo of musicians and other entertainers from Arnie’s bygone past. Some of the faces were familiar to me. All the pictures were personally autographed and dedicated to Arnie. I could see Arnie was well loved for his musical talents as well as his friendship.

Sadly, none of these wonderful people were present, today. Most, if not all, have already preceded Arnie to the Starlight Ballroom in the Sky. Arnie’s coming, time to start the Show!

All alone in a corner of the Viewing Room stood Arnie’s Snare Drum. It looked lost and lonely. I think it missed Arnie’s loving caresses. I noticed there were no drum sticks. I sure hope Arnie took them with him.

One thing I did not see was Arnie! This was one of those Viewings with no body. I wondered where he was.

After this sentimental sojourn down Arnie’s Memory Lane, I needed to sit and rest (am I getting old or am I still not sleeping enough?). I found a comfy-looking wingback armchair and plopped my Fat Butt down. Zzzzzz… I was soon fast asleep.

I dreamed I was in a funeral home, the very same one I was visiting for Arnie’s Viewing. But, I was in a different room. It was cooler and dimmer than the Viewing Room.

I was lying on a cool, steel table. I lifted my head and looked around. All around me lay the bodies of the Dearly Departed – most were dressed and touched up, ready to be Viewed.The others were not quite ready. Arnie was stretched out on a table next to mine. He smiled and waved, them told me I should not be there – snoozin’ with the stiffs. He told me to go back to the Viewing Room before anyone found me there.

As I exitted the Ready Room, I felt something shake me. A voice reverberated in my ear, “Wake up, Fat Man. This is no place to sleep. I’m ready to go home.”

Weird dream! Note to Self: Get more sleep before attending ALL Future Viewings.

Looking good, Arnie! Hope I see you in concert when my time comes.

Sweet Dreams!

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The Capitol Steps

I’ve got me one o’ them newfangled location finder gizmos in the Fat Mobile. It’s one o’ them whatchamacallems — you know, an FPS — Fat Position System. It always knows where my butt is. I wonder if, when I finally lose my Fat Butt, the dang thing’ll find it for me. Hope not.

After an early dinner, Ma Fat was acting all suspicious-like. She seemed to want to do or say something but just couldn’t find the way to do so. Finally she blurted out, “Let’s go for a ride in the Fat Mobile. I have a surprise for you.”

So, we bundled up in our snowsuits, mittens and boots, and headed out to the Fat Mobile. Ma Fat read me an address which I carefully keyed into my FPS. I wasn’t exactly sure of our final resting place, but I knew we were headed to Wind Bag Central (WBC), the Seat of Power for all of Fat Land. Into the city on a Friday night? What was Ma Fat thinking?

Now, there’s one thing that I can guarantee about these FPS units — there’s no guarantee that they know where you are nor how to get you to your final destination. WBC is one of those cities where positional accuracy is highly desirable — the streets are laid out on a Satanic System designed by the Freemasons and the Illuminati. It’s easy to get lost, if you don’t know where you are going, especially if you are following the directions of a machine — FPS.

Yes, I did miss a few turns. They were lefts onto one way streets going the wrong way. There were a couple roads that passed over the main travel road, rather than intersecting with it. After much ado, and despite the best efforts of my FPS unit, we finally arrived at our mystery destination — The Ronnie Raygun Memorial Office and Recreational Center, just off Pennsylneck Avenue in the heart of the city.

Now, all we had to do is figure how to get past the roadblock obstructing the driveway into the underground parking. Easy. Stop, talk to the armed guard and pop open the trunk. I’m glad my mother-in-law wasn’t in there.

We parked, then rode an elevator all the way up to the Concourse Level. And there, Ma Fat told me we had come to see the Capitol Steps. Silly Ma Fat, the Capitol Steps are outside at the Capitol Building on the other side of town. And that was too far to walk on a dark Friday night with a wintry mix threatening to blanket the region (not what the Weather Guesser Guy said, but what will likely happen, anyway). No, let’s get back into the Fat Mobile and call it a night.

Fat Man, Listen to me. The Capitol Steps is a Comedy Group. They say funny things. They revision the truth, just like the mass media, only funnier. Now, go ask that guy over there how to get to the Capitol Steps.

Silly Fat Man! Trix are for Kids and the Capitol Steps are for Intelligent Adults.

The guy I talked to pointed over yonder and said to go down that corridor, all the way to the end. Turn left and keep going. You will eventually run smack, dab, head first into it. “Tell ’em Charlie sent you.”

Easy, peasy! We ran into a crowd of people milling about. They were waiting for the doors to open. They were an eclectic group. Middle aged and nearing retirement age government-types mixed with texting twenty-somethings. These young ones were oblivious to the real world around them. I nearly tripped trying to get around a throng of them camped out on the staircase. The glare from their virtual online realities was reflected in their faces. It was difficult to decide which was smarter — the texters and net surfers or their smart devices. Beats me!

The doors opened. We found our seats and waited with baited breath — dang worms. The curtain went up and the show began. You will never guess who I saw in the show. None other than the current, sitting leader of the Free Fat World — Fatback Yomama. President Yomama wasn’t really there; however, the actor portraying him did such a convincing job of being the President.

Yomama was followed by a string of past Presidents and present politicians with speckled pasts. Their gaffes and indiscretions are the fuel for the Capitol Steps and their brand of humor. We all laughed so hard, so often, that I was glad I had on my Depends Big Boy Bloomers. Without those Pullups, I just may have soaked my shorts.

The hilarity continued for an hour and a half with a brief intermission in the middle. Potty time!

It was over before we were ready. Ma Fat and I could still be sitting there, enjoying ourselves, were it not for the friendly staff cajoling us to leave so they could clean-up for the night. Begrudgingly, we hauled our Fat Butts out of our seats and dragged them to the nearest exit. It was time to go home.

Thank you, Ma Fat, for this wonderful surprise. What a great way to celebrate our two birthdays. Remember, for the next 10 days, I’m only a year older than you. See, I must be getting younger and possibly better. Okay, let’s not get carried away. I remain the Oldest Fat in Our Family. That’s my story and I’m sticking with it.

Good night. Funny dreams.

ps. If you ever find yourself with the time to head down to Wind Bag Central — the home of the Blow Hards — checkout the Capitol Steps. I guarantee you will pee yourself laughing or at least come close many times throughout the evening. For their schedule and directions (in case you don’t have an FPS, or especially if you do) and so much more, check out their site on the Interwebs: Capitol Steps.

Enjoy!

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The Fat Man Speaks

There’s more to this old Fat Man than meets the eye – and with my size, plenty meets the eye.  I’m not merely flabulously funny and fixated on food. No, I am so much more! Tucked somewhere, way below all this blubber, there lies a serious soul. Of course that poor soul was seriously knocked down by all the flab flowing freely about my body.

This evening, it was my serious side that was called to action. I was invited to speak as the monthly garden guru at the Grand Connivance Village Center. Oh, did I forget to tell you that I am a Super Garden Guy? A few years back, I sat through Super Garden Guy classes, did the classwork and homework and passed the exam. Afterwards, the University of Fat certified me as a Super Garden Guy. See? I am certifiable!

My only disappointment in becoming a Super Garden Guy is that I did not receive an official SSG cape to wear to my talks. I briefly solved that problem by wearing my Fat Man Cape. That is until the SSG head honcho asked me to stop wearing it.

“It’s not a bathrobe! It’s my Fat Man Cape. It protects me from unforeseen dangers, e.g., hurled insults and flying fruit.”

Anyway, fourteen hearty souls braved the fearsomely freezy breezes to congregate at the Grand Connivance Village Center to hear what wisdom I would impart to them. Each came hoping that I would answer just one of her/his burning questions. Alas, I did not know the rules for acquiring a Burn Permit.

I spent the afternoon assembling my props and finalizing my slideshow. After dinner, I loaded up the Fat Mobile and schlepped myself across county to the GC Village Center. Fat City is divided into multiple Villages; Grand Connivance is its oldest.

My adoring soon-to-be fans began trickling in even before I could finish setting up. One gentleman even offered me live chickens in exchange for my knowledge. I had to respectfully decline, “Thank you, but no thank you. I am unable to accept your generous offer. Accepting it puts me at risk of actually entering a tax bracket. And we can’t have that, can we?” Seems pretty respectful, if you ask me.

The clock chimed half past seven. The meeting room doors clanged shut. I began, “Good evening. My name is Fat Man. I am a Super Garden Guy and welcome you to this month’s garden talk: Super Beginnings for Super Gardens.”

I then proceeded to guide these faithful folks through the steps to becoming a beginning super gardener. I showed them some pretty pictures and spouted pithy utterances. I showed them my books and magazines, my catalogs and my collection of vintage vermicompost. I gave them The Works – two all-beef Flabby Patties, bacon, cheese and special sauce, sandwiched between two thick slices of Freedom Toast. I do so love extra bull! There’s the Beef!!!

When at last my tongue stopped wagging, sixty minutes on the clock had passed. We still had 3o more minutes, but I needed to beathe for a moment  and field questions. Fortunately, none of them were of the “Stump-The-Super-Garden-Guy” type. I proved myself to be perspicacious enough to be able to provide sound advice in responsse to their inquiries.You just might say, “You done good, Fat Man!”

I rounded out my talk with a quick run through of gardening tips that work most of the time. And then my performance was finished. The audience disappeared into the great unknown beyond. Whether any of them benefited from this experience I will never know. But I had fun. And in the end, is that not all that really counts?

Let me leave you with some words of wisdom as once quipped by the great Canadian Novelist, Margaret Atwood, “Gardening is not a rational act. And neither am I.

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Ice Fishing

My remote, wireless, sensing device whimpered this morning, “Nineteen freezy, frostbitten Fahrenheits out there.” Brrrr! That’s pretty cold! And, it’s perfect for Ice Fishing.

Fat Lake lies just to the North of Fat Town, out beyond the Fat Fill. The lake’s surface is thick with blue ice. The frigid wind dancing across the frozen lake’s face swirls and screams – it really blows out there!

I can see me now, all bundled in my snowsuit, mittens shielding my hands and boots crunching in the drifted snow. I am on my way to my favorite fishin’ hole.

There she is, the Pride of the Fleet! That’s what we Fat Folk of Fat Town call our throng of Fat Fishing Huts spread across the face of Fat Lake – a Fleet.

My Hut, “Pride of the Fleet”, is constructed from black, corrugated metal roofing panels screwed onto a framework of moldering wooden timbers. The small, South-facing window once served to illuminate an old seaside shanty. Today, it barely irradiates The Pride’s inner spaces with the dim half-light of winter sunshine.

I step inside, quickly; closing the makeshift door behind me. Now to the first order of business – light the Coldman Lantern so that I can see what I’m doing in the shadowy bowels of my Fishing Hut. Next, I stoke the flames in the tiny wooden stove to raise the Pride’s internal temperature to a balmy 42°F – just enough to take the edge off the mindnumbing cold.

As the Pride slowly warms, I cautiously hack open my Fishing Hole with my trusty ice axe. Beyond the Pride’s four walls, the angry arctic air continues to rage and howl, like a frenzied, swirling dervish. The Pride’s walls shudder, as if chilled to the bone, with each furious blast of the Tempest.

I’m not worried! The Pride has withstood the Test of Time. She has lain at anchor, out here on frozen Fat Lake, these many wintry weeks, without fail. Nothing is going to take her down without a fight.

Huzzah! My Hole is finally frost free! Time for a break. So, I sit back in my neon-green, plastic Adirondack chair – reminds me of the color of the radioactive sludge into which the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles fell as babies. With a steaming mug of decaf herbal tea in one hand and my reliable Zebco fishing rod in the other, I am at Peace.

But, now, I feel a bit woozy, barely conscious. Perhaps it was the exertion of getting here and setting up for the day. Perhaps I haven’t vented the stove properly. Perhaps…

Suddenly, I’m drenched. My body is shaking – pummeled by invisible fists. An angry growl is growing in my ear. I’m confused – scared…

“Wake up Fat Man! Wake up!”

“Huh? What? Where am I? What’s happening?”, I mumble as I slowly remove my eye mask and wipe my face with my pajama sleeve.

“You were snoring and drooling, again”, says Ma Fat, who is hovering over me in bed. “It’s time for you to get up and get going. And don’t forget you promised to make fish stew for dinner.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll get right to it”, I mutter as I tumble out of bed and drag myself across the floor to the stairwell.

I wonder what today’s fresh catch will be out in the freezer.

Bon appetit!

Quicky Cioppino

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Happy Birthday to Ma Fat!

My blushing, young bride turns a year better, today. I slipped a birthday card into her lunch bag, last night, before I headed to dreamland. It’s right there between the sandwich, fruit and yogurt I packed for her. Hope she doesn’t eat it before reading it. She needs to save room for her birthday dinner tonight — homemade cioppino.

Yes, we are all getting older here in the Fat Cave. In 10 days, I will celebrate turning double-nickels — fifty-five. “I can’t drive 55!” Thanks, Sammy.

This year, I’m hoping that, unlike prior years, I am getting better, not just older. As I arrived at this same date last year, I was racing up toward 300 pounds. I nearly got there before I stopped. A year and 50 pounds later, I am racing down toward 200 pounds — 225 by this year’s end.

It’s never too late to teach an old dog new tricks. And this old dog is eager to learn!

Kayak!

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Kayak in 4!

The bathroom scale greeted me with wonderful news this morning. My weight is down to 249 pounds. That’s below the 250 pound threshhold. That’s lower than I reached in September. And that is only 4 pounds away from my kayak!

I previously pictured myself in my new kayak, floating along, enjoying life. Okay, so, what I really did is Photoshopped myself into a kayak and then Photoshopped the kayak and me into a picture of kayakers in Alaska. That’s not cheating — just creatively visualizing a goal.

I feel very positive that I can knock off these last four pounds before my birthday on January 28 (11 days from today). That’s three days per pound — do-able. I really want to hit 245 by this Sunday, January 22, 2012, the final day of the SP Purification Program diet.

I’ve got the power.
The power is in me!
Kayak in 4!
Just wait and see!

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The Return of The Food Blog

I awoke, this morning, with a hankering to play with food. You know – sort through the supplies, select ingredients, prepare dishes, cook, snap photos. I knew today was the day to return to posting to my food blog: Are You Gonna Eat That?.

I headed down to the Fat Kitchen, donned an apron, and began rummaging through the Fat Pantry and the Fat Fridge. The rice noodles in the pantry looked interesting. In the fridge, I found a nice, pink fillet of wild caught salmon, and some colorful veggies – snap peas and carrots. The colors were all so vivid.

The Fat Camera was stashed away on a shelf in the back room. A freshly charged battery pack lay beside it. The lens was clean. My favorite Fat Food Foto location – the garden window in the living room – was glowing with the morning sun. The perfect time for photography had arrived.

Back in the kitchen, I boiled a pot of water and pre-heated the oven to Broil. I removed the pot from the burner and plunged the noodles in for 8 minutes. Meanwhile, I brushed the salmon with a light coating of olive oil, laid it on a broiler pan and slid it into the oven for 3 minutes. As the salmon and noodles cooked, I julienned a medium carrot.

The noodles were done before the salmon. Before draining them, I dropped the snap peas into the pot with the noodles to blanch for a minute. Then did the same thing with the carrot pieces. The veggies were warm and crunchy and very tasty.

I plated the noodles and veggies. Out came the salmon and onto the plate it went. To finish, I splashed everything with some organic soy sauce – Nama Shoyu – and squeezed on some fresh lime juice. The final touch was a sprinkle of kelp granules.

This dish was heavenly. It photographed well. And it tasted like the best food I had eaten in a long time. Wait, it was the best food I had eaten since starting the Program Diet. The rice noodles might be a bit of a stretch for the Guidelines (they say rice, but don’t mention rice noodles). But, overall, this was a perfect meal that fit well within the Guidelines. It was feel good food.

I hope to continue to be inspired to play with food this entire week. This should give me some meals that I will want to continue to eat even after the Program Diet ends next Monday. That will certainly aid in moving forward with my weight loss and health gain goals. Great food; great health!

Now, how do I upload these pictures to my flood blog?

Enjoy!

Breakfast: Salmon, veggies and noodles

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Two in Forty-Two

A narrow ribbon of asphalt runs past the front door of the Fat Cave. From end to end, it stretches for one half of a hilly mile — up and down and up and down. To those of us living alongside it, this is Our Road.

Today’s local high temperature was forecast to reach a bone-chillin 37 degrees F. It never reached that warm here at the Fat Cave.

I decided this afternoon would be a good time to reacquaint myself with the joys of walking outdoors. Though the temperature was nippy, the sun shone brightly in the azure sky. Besides, the Fat Family was home and getting restless. I felt the need to escape, if only for a brief spell.

So, I threw on a couple extra layers of clothes, wrapped my favorite muffler round my neck, donned my winter coat and knit hat, and slipped my hands into a pair of heavy gloves. I toddled out the front door, feeling like I did the first time I stepped out into the snow as a young child — bundled in my snowsuit, boots, mittens and hat — hot and barely mobile.

My plan was to walk the length of the road four times for a total of 2 miles. Twelve years ago, the last time I was deeply serious about losing weight, I made this same walk almost daily. Combined with Weight Watchers, I walked off 60 pounds in 6 months. As long as I maintained the walking, the weight stayed off. As soon as I stopped walking, I began to regain all that weight plus more. A year ago, I was cruising at around 290 pounds. Today, I am 251 and am looking to walk my way down to 225 by the end on 2012.

The course I chose led me to the back end of the road — the farthest point from the Fat Cave. As I walked, my ears were treated to the lovely songs of birds tweeting in their trees. The sounds of nature enveloped and relaxed me. The neighbor’s cars and I danced around each other as we strove to share Our Road. I thought about how I could have stayed indoors and walked on the treadmill or run on the elliptical. Boring! I am committed to walking outdoors as often as the weather permits. I will save the exercise equipment for foul weather times.

The first mile slid by easily. I was feeling great! As I headed towards the back of the road for the second time, I began to feel the sweat pouring down my back and trickling down the backs of my legs. Sweat from my brow stung my eyes with its salt. My glasses started to fog over from the steam rising from my body. Just as I unbuttoned my coat, a frigid blast of air struck me on the chest — chilled that idea immediately. I was feeling hot and bothered and was thinking about calling it quits. But I persevered!

After 42 minutes and 2 miles, I was finally finished. I fell through the front door and flopped my Fat Fanny onto the floor, completely flummoxed. Fun!

How does that old saw go? “No pain, no gain.” Funny, I don’t recall feeling any pain gaining all this weight. So, why is losing weight such a pain. Perhaps, a more truthful aphorism would be, “Too much gain, feel the pain!”

Keep the faith. Keep laughing. Make good choices.

Until next time…

Kayak!

Dog tired on a treadmill!

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Vampires at High Noon

The Fat Phone has rung incessantly since the new year began. Advertisers, pollsters, campaigners, complete unknowns — all seeking to sell something — an idea, a product, a service, a candidate. None of these callers wants to accept ‘No’ as the answer.

One recent call piqued my interest. When I picked up the phone, all I could hear was heavy breathing coming from the earpiece. “Ve vant your blood,” rasped the Vampire. “Ve are in critical need. Blood and platelets are in dangerously low supply. Vhen can you come?”

I’ll be honest, I’m a pushover for a sexy Vampire rasping on the phone. “Put me down for Friday, noon.”

The sun reached its zenith as I strolled into the local Vampire Donation Center. The Official Greeter met me at the door and signed me in. He pointed to his right to indicate that was where I was to go. I was pleased to see I was not alone. Other “victims” were awaiting their turns to step into a cubicle with a Vampire.

“Mr. Fat Man, step into Cubicle Six, please.”

The door to the cube creaked closed. There she sat — Ginger — my Personal Vampire. Vampire looked at me hungrily with her deep, dark, penetrating eye. Her skin was fine and wan as café au lait. Her lips were full and flushed crimson. Her voice was crisp with a slight Caribbean lilt. She wanted to know all about me. Then she wanted to taste test my blood for iron. I had plenty. Ginger placed her cool, clammy fingers on my wrist — my pulse skipped a beat. And then she slipped away like a wraith while I completed a lengthy questionnaire concerning my health.

Ginger drifted back in, just as I finished the last question. “Looks like you’re a match, today.”

She led me down a dark corridor to a room full of recliners connected to strange looking machines. The people stretched out on the recliners were connected to the machines by plastic tubes — one in each arm. Plastic sacks of blood hung from their wrists. A pouch on each machine slowly expanded as it filled with a yellowish substance that resembled snot — platelets, I learned later.

“You’ll be here a long while. Go pee, grab a movie, and meet me back here. Go!”

I selected an action packed film full of pirates, monsters, car chases and romance. I could feel my blood beginning to rush in anticipation of the excitement I was about to experience.

I laid myself down on the recliner. My Personal Vampire draped a blanket over my prone body — to keep me warm. I inserted the movie into the video player, donned headphones, and prepared to tune out the whole bloody affair. I was ready for the long haul.

My Vampire first pierced my left arm. My left arm is a tricky place for the Vampires to navigate — two veins cross each other at the exact location where the return tube is inserted (pierce the wrong one and down goes the donor, me). A plastic tube was then stretched across my abdomen and plugged into my right arm. Blood began to flow immediately, into a plastic collection sack. Blood samples were drawn for further analysis.

Blood was soon flowing from my right arm to my left, with a brief stop in the strange machine working next to me. This machine removed the platelets coming from the blood in my right arm and returned what remained of my blood to my left arm.

This blood separation process — apheresis — continued for about 2 hours. I was drained and exhausted. Ginger disconnected me and wrapped each of my puncture sites in red bandages.

I headed to the canteen in search of refreshment. I bypassed the cookies and pretzels and grabbed a bottle of water to go.

As I drove home, I felt good about what I had just done. Even though the Program diet I am currently following often leaves me feeling tired and hungry, I felt invigorated knowing that what I had just done will help save at least one life.

Yay, me! Hero!

——————–
In all seriousness, community blood supplies are critically low. Both whole blood and platelets are in great demand. Please, if you can, give blood or platelets. You can be proud knowing that you are saving a life by giving of yourself. I have been giving platelets for seven years. I have been privileged to learn that my platelets were a match on several occasions — those days I felt like a real hero. Be a hero, give so others may live! Checkout the American Red Cross to learn more about how and where to give in your community. Thank you.

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Dr. Noz Knows

I dropped by Dr. Noz’s office this afternoon to restock my supply of supplements.

As I crossed the threshold into Dr. Noz’s office, my mind flashed back to my last visit. I had stopped for supplements on that occasion, too.

That day, Dr. Noz and I had chatted about the T-therapy that I was about to begin. The results from all of my labs had come in and supported the commencement of therapy.

“Wait. There’s one more thing I need to check. Please step into the exam room with me.”

T-therapy may have a negative impact on a less than healthy prostate gland. Dr. Noz wanted to check to be sure my prostate was healthy enough for this treatment.

“If you would like, I can give you a paper gown.”

I could not imagine why a paper gown would be necessary, so I declined her offer.

“OK. Now drop your drawers and undershorts. Then bend over the table, ” she said as her hand slipped into a small, latex-free glove.

Oh! So that’s how you examine a prostate. Gulp!

I took it like a Fat Man — gritted my teeth and braced for the incursion.

Dr. Noz pushed and prodded and poked around for a while.

“It all feels good to me.”

Yeah, me, too!

“You can get dressed and come out.”

What, no pillow talk? No cuddling? That’s it? Oh, yeah, this wasn’t that sort of thing, was it?

As I was walking out of Dr. Noz’s office, today, with my bag of supplements, I glanced back and saw her standing in the exam room doorway. She smiled at me and I at her.”

“Have a good day. See you next time.”

Now, when’s that next appointment?

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