I have recently started walking around with a small composition book that my daughter bought me. I have this affinity toward them, and I really don’t know why. It isn’t from my childhood, because, I never used them, and I really hate keeping notes in them because once I get done writing in them, I tend to never look back at it.
Well, that was until recently… when I started carrying the book.. which I feel is a tad redundant at this point….
Anywho.
I started jotting down some of the conversations and thoughts I have. Almost as if peering into my brain and storing those things for later use. These seems like a pretty good practice, as it gives me a chance to share with you the craziness that is my mind.
So.. buckle up.. and prepare to be mentally vomited on with things that catch my attention.
First up, I had a doctor’s visit yesterday. A follow up to another visit.. which was a follow up to my surgery.. which is making me think this is some kind of scheme to make money off of me… I’ll have to think about that more later.
But earlier in the morning I had weighed myself, which is something I have been doing as I am trying to lose weight. Or at least eat better.. or something I guess that I am suppose to be doing because my wife apparently likes having me around so I need to live longer. Upon stepping on the scale, I weighed in at 212. Woot… down 2 pounds from last week.
Now, I do this in the morning, right after my shower, so it is sans pretty much everything (sorry for that mental image), and as that is my ritual, it gives me a fairly accurate assessment of my weight loss (or gain) progress.
Skip forward to my doctor’s visit at 4:30 in the afternoon. I step on the scale, fully dressed, and it says I am 224 pounds. First, I think that scale lies. Lies so bad. Secondly, I was wearing my boots. As I stepped off the scale and started walking back toward the room I was to have my appointment in, I make the following comment:
“Guess I shouldn’t have worn my boots today.”
The nurse (or person in scrubs that was doing my medical whoo haa who I just assume is a nurse) looks at me and says, “Well, we will take 3 pounds off for clothing.”
3 pounds???
Seriously?
I had a major objection toward that, and in my defense of my recent loss of over 2 pounds, I stated such. “I wish one of my boots weighed less the 3 pounds.” She looked at me as if I was seriously bringing this up. Then she looked down at my boots.
“Really?” she asked incredulously. (ok, I might have just taken it that way) And I was like..”I’m a boot wearer.Not one of those city slicker types that wear those half boots with zippers, but an honest to God, country boy boot wearer.” The kind you see all those cowboys wearing back in the 1800’s as they kicked piles of cow patties and wrestled cows and branded them, and rode horse back.. and a bunch of other things I just don’t do, other than wear boots that is.
She just shook her head and took my blood pressure and pulse, which oddly enough, were not elevated at all.
Next time, I’m wearing my flip flops.
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