Few things are quite as disconcerting as happening upon your doctor at the supermarket. Fortunately, my basket was nearly empty at the time, else I might have had to endure something like this:
Caving to my doctor’s incessant prodding to partake of healthier fare containing rather large amounts of high fiber and less potables, I began a stout regimen of bran, greens and moderate sobriety.
An hour after promising to attempt a healthier lifestyle just to shut his yammering pie hole, I made a tedious, label reading trip through the store and loaded the pantry with bran flakes, assorted brown grains and other unappetizing foodstuffs I had absolutely no desire to eat.
The results were pretty much what you’d expect:
How in the hell can any medical professional recommend such a gruesome diet that would limit most sentient people to a solitary life compatible with isolated penal confinement or eating grubs in some remote island cave? You simply can’t go out in public after indulging in this bit of healthful idiocy.
Well, you can, but you have to be able to deftly deflect any and all attention that might be paid to your overactive butt trumpet. It helps to work in an unpleasant industrial environment, where such ructions scarcely will be noticed.