I'm normal. Sort of...

I know it's all been fun and games up until now but it's time to get serious. You remember how I went to the doctor last month and how I was diagnosed
with F-A-T, right? Well, I had my follow up appointment this week and I was braced for what other news she was going to give me.

The nurse called to me in the waiting room.

"Chrissy Starr?"

I gathered my purse and walked toward the door.

"Hi Chrissy, how are you today?"

"The doctor diagnosed me with F-A-T, how do you think I am?"

"Okay....let's step on the scale and see what you weigh."

This is normally where I would decline and say, Just write down what I was the last time, but I have to admit, I was curious.

I put my purse on the chair next to the scale.

I removed my coat.

And my scarf.

And my shoes.

And my suit jacket.

And my necklace.

And my watch.

And my earrings.

I even spit out my gum.

One hundred@#%$!

WTF?!?!?

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. It must be a mistake. I can't weigh that much! I tried bouncing on the scale to get another reading but it was no use. It was digital.



I hung my head and put on my earrings.

And my watch.

And my necklace.

And my suit jacket.

And my shoes.

And my scarf.

And picked up my coat and purse and headed to the exam room to wait for Dr. Banes.

"Hello, Chrissy, how are you?", Dr. Banes walked in.

"I'm great! How are you?", I feigned a happy response, hoping that would distract her from looking at the weight the nurse had written on my chart.

It was no use. She looked at my chart, looked and me and looked at the chart again.

"Well, it doesn't look like you've lost any weight from the last time you were in. I'm a little concerned. Please take a look at this". She handed me a weight chart.

I looked across for my age and then down for my height. There was a breakdown of three columns, small, medium and large frame.

There I am. What's the problem? I'm within the range.

Oh, wait. I am in the range but not for a medium framed, 5'9, 43 year old woman.

I'm in the range for a large framed, 43 year old man.

Who is 2 inches taller than me.

Son of a bitch!

"Maybe you could join Nutri System or Jenny Craig or something like that?", Dr. Banes suggested as she handed me a diet and exercise worksheet.

I smiled and nodded in agreement knowing there was no way in hell I was going to join. Let me remind you, I used to work for Jenny Craig. I would need to take out a home equity loan to be able to afford the food.

God bless, Dr. Banes. I know she means well but I don't need a diet and exercise handout or a food program. What I need is a psychiatrist.

And I don't mean one of those pretend psychologists like Dr. Frasier Crane. I mean, a psychiatrist, like Carl Jung, who said, "It is often tragic to see how blatantly a man bungles his own life and the lives of others yet remains totally incapable of seeing how much the whole tragedy originates in himself, and how he continually feeds it and keeps it going."

YES! Get me an appointment with that guy!


He looks so pleasant, doesn't he?


What? Oh. He died in 1961?

Crap! NOW what am I supposed to do?

Does anyone have a cookie?