13 weeks.

15 lbs.

Day of reckoning.

Doctor appointment, to review my blood results.

Got up at 430, to work early.

Left work at 315pm.

What the hell?




Sliding around?

Hello, Doc?  Uhm, can I reschedule?

What? Thursday?  This Thursday?  You are kidding, right?

I will not get out of my driveway.

You haven’t heard?

A storm is on its way.

When can I come in?

Can’t you just tell me if I can start buying green bananas?

Huh?  Just kidding.  Do you think I will live to see them turn yellow?

What do you mean?  I need to come in…. Is it bad news?

If it is, can you prescribe medical marijuana?

What?  No, I am not a pot head.

Why do I have to come in for you to tell me I am a dysfunctional idiot with a vitamin D deficiency and a sugar addict?

Do you make house calls?

Come on, Doc.  Lighten up.  I have a bottle of wine just waiting for your company.  Red wine.  And an apple.

You know what they say:  A bottle of wine and an apple a day, keep the werewolves away.

No, I am not calling you a wolf.

I just need to reschedule.

By the way, I need drugs.

I am a nervous wreck.

Get a pet?  Are you kidding?

I have 2 cats and a husband and all 3 of them are the root cause of my anxiety.

Of course I drink.

Wouldn’t you?

Take 2 aspirin and call you in the morning?

How about if I take 2 bottles of wine and a box of chocolates and 5 green bananas, and top it off with a hot fudge sundae?


Yeah, ok.  I hear you.  You will be here when?  In 30 minutes?

Just bring the whipped cream.

And a case of wine.





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