In an effort to prove to the world I’m actually mature and grown up, and to counter the fact that I eat children’s cereal for breakfast, my husband and I decided to increase our life insurance policies.
Well, that was my thought anyway. Maybe he wanted to increase the amount so he could off me and turn the basement into a man-cave with the insurance money. He knows my dead body is the only way he’s getting his man-cave.
Regardless of the reason, we decided to increase our life insurance policies. I called our broker and was advised we would have to undergo physicals and blood tests since we were increasing the amounts.
Don’t go getting ideas about offing me blogger fans! It’s not that big of a policy!
I left the task of scheduling our physicals to my dear husband. Sometimes I like to give him tasks so he feels important. He told me he scheduled the appointments for Wednesday morning. He told me this on Tuesday afternoon, after I stuffed my face with a cheesy salad and a personal pizza.
I knew I couldn’t drop 100 pounds in less than 24 hours, at least not without an extremely strong laxative and a 24 pack of toilet paper. However, I was delusional enough to think I might be able to give the doctor the appearance I lived a healthy lifestyle.
First up, I called my friend Downtown Christy Brown (not her real name). She is usually my go-to friend when I need to drown my sorrows in cheesecake, or when I need to celebrate with cheesecake.
She’s pretty much my go-to friend whenever food is involved, which let’s face it, is all the time.
I knew if I wanted to win her over to help me get healthy for one night, I would have to bribe her with food. I called her and started off by telling her that I wanted to hang out and get dinner that night.
After she finished devouring the candy bar she was noshing on, she agreed to grab dinner with me. Perfect. Then I went in for the kill.
I told her the price was that we had to exercise before our dinner….it was paying the piper of sorts. Like the work before the reward. It was as if I had punched her in the face.
I had to call her back at that moment because we mysteriously got disconnected. It was strange because I swore I heard profanity in the background just before the disconnect.
I knew I had to eat a healthy dinner if I wanted to convince the doctor my stomach rolls were water weight and not vats of queso dip, but I didn’t want to give her even more bad news.
So, I did what any good friend would do. I lied. I agreed that we could work out and then get a fatty dinner. She was on board.
I then called my friend Pajama Jeans for further support, hereinafter referred to as “PJ” (not her real name). PJ is one of my thin friends whose thigh is the size of my right arm, and who thinks a belly roll is some kind of exercise you do at the gym, not what hangs over my pants.
As if her being thin wasn’t offensive enough, she is also adorable, which makes me want to punch her in the perfectly complected face. Despite all of these downfalls, I like her anyway, and I try to look past these obvious flaws.
Instead of telling PJ that I wanted to get together to eat, I lead with the exercise part, and said I wanted to work out with her.
She asked which kickboxing class we would be attending, and I broke the news that although I wanted to inflict bodily harm on someone, I advised that physical violence would have to wait for another day…or at least until after I had a few drinks.
As I knew going to the gym might actually kill me, I suggested we ease into the workout with a walk in the park.
I was hoping it would be better than a rigorous workout at the gym and would be like…well…a walk in the park. She was agreeable.
DCTB came to my house and we drove to PJ’s house together. DCTB had a skip in her step and a smile on her face, as she dreamed of pizza and wings. I thought I could actually see mini T-ravs in her eyes.
We arrived at PJ’s house where she greeted us by bouncing out of her house in tiny yoga pants and an adorable tank top.
She walked up to us just as I successfully convinced DCTB that punching PJ for her cuteness wouldn’t get us any closer to eating dinner.
I decided I wanted to do a kickboxing class with her at a later point, as I wanted her to be my sparring partner so I could hopefully give her a bruise or two.
The three of us walked for an hour in the heat, which was no small feat for two of us. PJ seemed unaffected by the walk and was ready to start doing lunges, as she thought the walk was just the warm up.
DTCB and I let PJ know we were done with the workout for the day (and for the week), and we were ready to leave and commence eating. PJ was agreeable, as was DTCB, who was ready to dominate some nachos.
It was then that I told DTCB that we needed to eat something healthy so my blood test in the morning wouldn’t consist of two parts grease and one part cheese.
She was not happy, but at that point she was hungry and too weak to argue.
We agreed on Bread Co and got salads, which DTCB and I inhaled in 3 minutes flat. We sat and chatted while PJ ate her meal, all the while wishing we ordered a pastry for dessert. DTCB suggested we get some frozen yogurt to reward ourselves, but I strenuously objected because of the blood test.
I was actually fairly proud of myself for saying no and decided I would reward myself the next morning with a milkshake (after the blood test, of course).
I headed home and spent the rest of the evening trying to sleep and ignore the hunger pains.
I couldn’t sleep so I tried to talk to my husband, but we couldn’t hear each other over our rumbling tummies, so we gave up and went to sleep, starving and irritable.
We got up early and got ready for work and waited for the doctor to appear at our house to do the physicals.
Our appointment time came and went, all the while the hunger pains becoming more intense. Then, my husband broke. He headed to the kitchen and I heard the familiar sound of cereal hitting the bowl.
I asked him what he was doing, to which he replied that he was doing “what he had to do.” I heard the sweet sound of milk hitting cereal and knew I was a goner too. I caved and ate cereal with my husband. It never tasted so good.
We both left for work, realizing the doctor wasn’t coming and our physical wasn’t going to happen.
Apparently there was a mix-up and the doctor thought he was doing the next morning instead. Later that day, when the error was discovered, we agreed we wouldn’t reschedule the physical for a while longer. We were still irritable from the 12 hour fast, and my feet weren’t ready for another bout with PJ and her zeal.
So, we are holding off on increasing our life insurance for now, mostly because we don’t want to go without our Frosted Mini Wheats. Here’s to hoping we don’t get hit by a truck in the meantime, well….unless it’s a donut truck…