Today is my Little My’s tenth birthday. She will never use one digit for her age again, she told me. I hope she makes it to triple figures, just like her Grande-Mamie. She is thrilled to bits with her gift, a bright red tablet that goes « scccchlick » when she pulls her finger across the screen.
When the village postie careened down the drive this morning in the bright yellow suppository he uses like a combination of a tank and dodgem car, he left two gifts in the mailbox. One was for Little My. Her eyes lit up when she ripped the envelope open to discover a delicately illustrated birthday card from my parents, with two crisp notes inside. She hurtled up the stairs to ferret them away in her piggy bank. The kid has an impressive stash of cash, and I suspect that she will be buying us out one day in the foreseeable future.
I also had a gift: my blood work results. Not having had any blood tests done since two years ago, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect when I opened the envelope. It contained a wake-up call: I have a visitor, a certain C. Holesterol. My unwanted guest has a double personality. He has a generously sized nice-guy component, making this part of his personality a superhero sweeping away the muck in my arteries. I’m guessing that his presence can be attributed to my huge consumption of peanuts, cashew nuts and olive oil, and this suits me fine as I can’t imagine life without them.
However, he is having a tough time beating his nasty alter ego, a certain « LDL » who weighs in at a hefty 1,75g. The French limit the bad-guy element to 1,60g/litre which is totally unfair given the amount of cheese and charcuterie there is on offer nationwide. Thinking this over, I can’t help wondering where the pharmaceutical companies selling French anti-cholesterol medication go on holiday with all that money.
I fear that the family doctor is going to be coming down on me like a ton of bricks some day soon. Whatever she says, the source of motivation I couldn’t find just a few days ago in « My body is my temple » has just reared its ugly head : my health. The date, as I have already said, is one that I won’t forget. It’s a good date, if any, to set out with a new attitude on life. Realising that ten years have already flown by and that your last-born is already asking you what her kids should call you when you become a grandmother kind of reminds you that although you’ve done a fair whack of life’s road, you still have an awful lot of things you’d like to see, and it’s probably best not to tempt the devil….
So here’s the deal. So from today onwards, I’ll be making an effort to cut my intake of alcohol, salt and animal fat, and taking daily walks or cycle rides. I will NOT join the lycra brigade, so don’t hold your breath. Any form of girly exercise is most definitely OUT, as well as tofu: I can’t stand either. Oh, and any resemblance to intentional weight loss will be purely incidental – I have no desire whatsoever to end up looking like a stick insect that’s decided to give Dukan a whirl.
This is going to be tough, and I can’t say I’m looking forward to it. The only time I ever stopped eating animal fat and drinking any form of alcohol was to lose two and a half stone way back when I was a student, but that was to fit into my clothes, not for my health. Now I’m getting older and the reality of life is kicking in, I’m not really surprised to see that wake-up calls for your health motivate even the most reticent Epicureans.
So we’re off. Accountability is a win-win situation, I guess, so I’ll check with my G.P then get another blood test done in three months. Watch this space. Wish me luck, guys…… Any advice would be gratefully accepted!