I met my old friend Kay for lunch today at her favorite deli. Redolent of brisket and pastrami, it is a cardiologists dream or nightmare, and so conveniently located near several major hospitals. In fact, I suspect it is the loss leader of a certain LLC, providing a steady revenue flow in otherwise lean times.
Kay came through the front door, panting a little, and sat down opposite me. I had arrived a bit early, almost early enough to get started on a cup of coffee, served by, if that is the correct term, the most casual of wait persons.
"How's the cardio therapy?" I asked.
"Had to get off the bike," she panted. "Blood pressure spiked. Off the chart. Wouldn't go down."
This sums up her most recent problem: runaway blood pressure.
She looked at me. "When are you going to get a face lift? It'd take off fifteen - no, twenty - years. Get rid of the jowly look, the wattles."
Funny. I was feeling pretty chipper when I started, but now, I don't know, I was feeling all jowly and wattily.
"Dr. Fassbinder could do wonders for you. Just the jaw line, maybe the neck. Not the eyes. Leave the eyes alone."
Good. I am glad that there is some part of my face that is passable.
Kay scribbled The Fass's (that's what I call him) name and location on a scrap of paper from her hand bag.
"He'll give you a free estimate," she said
Hmmm. Just like a Chevy or a Toyota that needs a few dents pounded out.
"If I looked twenty years younger, what about my gray hair" I asked? "Am I supposed to be prematurely gray? Or would forty-nine not be premature. Would I have to go blonde? Maybe blue. Not little-old-lady purple or blue, but a nice clear cerulean, or robin's egg. I dreamed I had blue hair once. And would people think I married a much older man? What would he think of that? I don't think he is the trophy-wife kind of guy or he would have made his move a long time ago."
The waitress, taking a break in her busy day, dropped by our table to take our order. Kay, keeping with her heart healthy regimen, ordered chopped liver on an egg bagel and carrot cake with cream cheese frosting.
"I just love the cute little carrot on top ."
"Perfect!" I said. "That's what I'll put on your tombstone. By the way, do you have to be somewhere?" I noticed Kay kept checking her watch.
"Nope, just checking my blood pressure. " Right, she did have two fingers on her pulse. "Could you pass the salt please?"
I showed Kay the calorie checker app on my phone. This little wonder not only gives the calories in just about anything you can think of, - restaurant food, grocery brands, your own cooking - Calorie King it's called and it's free- but it breaks food down to values of carbs, protein, fats, sugars etc.
Kay was fascinated. "Look, I've eaten my full load of calories for today, and it isn't even 1 PM! I guess there is nothing to do but go home and go to bed."
Oops, I just got a message on my phone. As you could have predicted from my previous blog entry, I bought the fast-becoming ubiquitous FitBit and I just met my daily walking goal.( And while sitting at the computer, no less!) I have purposely set the goal low so I can feel cheered by little rewards once in a while. If I set it at 10,000 steps, the amount these programming clowns recommend, I would never hear from my FitBit at all, unless it is programmed to snicker derisively.
So, I am going to take my wattles and jowls to the stove and heat up some very low cal. minestrone soup, and wish you warmth and a good bowl of soup on this ridiculously cold night.
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