The Doctor is IN --- sane.

So I had my annual physical examination. Something I have as much excitement over as an ingrown toenail but religiously observe nonetheless given my family history. (Heart diseases on the mother's side, cancer on dad's side. Happy, ain't it?)

It's not that I was surprised or anything with the results. Experience and a lot of self-help publications has taught me that A+B=C.

That is:

A = sedentary lifestyle
B = incorrigible eating habits
C = stern, disapproving looks from the family physician (this conclusion is entirely mine, though)

And if you've seen our family doctor, a slightly stern look can already make you want to seek asylum in Switzerland.

Case in point: No more than 2 hours after my last appointment with her, she texted me asking, no INSTRUCTING!, me to text her back my food intake for that night's dinner.

I know I'm on the hefty side, but jeeeez! I'm not THAT big!

I suppose it doesn't help that being the family doctor, she's seen all the ailments that members of my family have unnecessarily gone through given their lifestyle. And professional concerns notwithstanding, she's been like a second mom to me.

I suppose things could be worse.
I could have a doctor who didn't care.

So despite all this bitchin' and moaning, I'll take everything in stride. Like just this Saturday night, she called me up and asked me how many minutes of exercise I've logged in that week.

Does walking to the kitchen for extra helpings of honey roasted peanuts count?
HAAAAAAY.