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The Sugars

Has anyone watched Yellowstone? Scott and I are little late to the party I think. But WOW! If you don't watch it, you should. Not just for the writing and story lines.... but the scenery. And I'm not talking about the pastures if you know what I mean.

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Need I say more? I could watch the damn show on mute and still enjoy it.


I myself however, have felt all but sexy this week.... I had to have a physical done. And my doctor was none too pleased with me. I may have been a little overdue for my annual check up. Just by 5 or 7ish years.


Whoops.


But in my defense, there was COVID and I moved twice in the last 7 years. So ya. I think I should get judgement free pass on that. But regardless, I do KNOW that 7 years is far to long to go without a check up. And with that mind, I am also aware that if something was wrong, it was likely going to be very wrong because whatever it was would have gone unchecked for over 6 years.


So I spiraled most of the week leading up to my appointment. I resigned myself to the fact that I likely had high cholesterol, kidney failure and the sugars. Gone would be the days of being carefree, I figured. I told my friends that I likely wouldn't make it out of the doctor's office. The shock would probably kill me.


But it actually went okay.... if you don't include the fact that I was irrationally insulted that my doctor didn't acknowledge the sprucing up I did down there for the occasion and that I got a good look at the pap smear swab. Which should not be called a swab. It should be called a cheese grater.

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Anyways, after all the poking/prodding/scraping, it turns out that my blood work results weren't half bad and I can confirm that I do not have the sugars!


It has, however, put me into the mindset of wanting to look after myself. Is it weird that I look at these numbers as a challenge? Like, I wonder how many points I could shave off them by next year. Gosh, I'm getting old.


Part of looking after myself is, unfortunately, losing weight. And I find losing weight incredibly difficult. Partially because of the PCOS/anti-depressants and partially because I love poutine. And wings. Ooooh, and creme brulee!


I remember thinking as a child, and even into my teens, that people who obsessed over the number on the scale were insane and wasting their time. But to be fair, I had met some pretty over the top people .


If you read last week's post, you'll know that my uncles took me to Europe when I was 15. When we landed in London early in the morning, we had one goal in mind... remain awake all day, so that when we went to bed that night our internal clocks would 'reset' to local time.


In order to do this we had to keep ourselves busy. We explored the city and in the evening, while walking down a busy street looking for somewhere to eat, we bumped into my uncles' friend and his accompanying crew of flight attendants who had flown in at some point in the last 24 hrs.

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They were all gorgeous, confident and intimidating. I was mesmerized.


And I was also incredibly jealous of the people who got to be on their flight. I can only imagine what the execution of the safety presentation was like. I mean Alfred was great. But... I don't know if he 'd of been able to compete.


"I love your bag!" One of the men, we'll call him Philip, said as he grabbed my purse. I was so flattered that if he had of asked, I would have given it to him. Wallet, passport and all.


After chatting for a few minutes, my uncle offered for them to join us for dinner.


"No, I am on a liquid diet," Philip said with a wink. He then wrapped his giant hands around his impossibly cinched waist and stated, "I am trying to get back to my baby weight. It is near impossible."


I was at a loss for words. Because I was 98% sure this guy was serious. "What did you just say?" I asked, not able to stop myself.


"My baby weight. 7lbs 4oz!" Philip said smiling, with his fingers crossed.


My mouth was still gaping when my uncles led me away and down the street. "He, he wasn't serious? Was he?"


My brief interaction with Philip has stuck with me for a long time and I think about him often. I don't know why exactly. It could have been his red cowboy boots. Or maybe it was his conviction to stick to his goal?


A week later I was certainly wishing I was on a liquid diet. We had popped into a rather posh restaurant in Paris. I was confident I could order for myself. I looked through the menu and there was a lot of duck (which at the time I would never have consider eating). But I eventually found an item that had boeuf, oeuf and frites in the description. Beef, egg and fries? Weird combo.... but steak goes with anything, right?


My first mistake was not taking the look of concern in the waiter's eyes seriously.


My uncles plates arrived with roasted meats and vegetables, looking delicious. And then my plate was put down.


A platter of finely chopped raw beef and a nest of french fries on the side. AND to top it off, Mr Waiter then cracked a very small raw egg into the middle of my raw beef.

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Through gritted teeth, attempting not laugh, my uncles asked if I would like to order something else. But I had my pride. And it wouldn't let me admit to my mistake.


I never knew a dish could be chewy and slimy at the same time.



Well I hope you have a wonderful week. Kick ass, take names, and don't take shit off of anybody. And do not under ANY circumstances order the tar tar.



-Kay






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