Remember, No Crocs At My Funeral*

Like a lot of people, I don’t have a PCP right now and so I am doing my own doctoring and diagnosing, which is sooo much easier these days with the internet. Of course, there is the slight possibility it might not be as accurate. Back in the day, I had to flip through diseases in the 1,438-page, lap-crushing Mayo Clinic Family Health Book. Let me just say that the full-color, centerspread of diseased body parts is something to behold.

Anyway, I just want you to know that I love each and every one of you 12 readers who have faithfully checked in every time you’ve received an email alert. Facebook clicks count, too. You losers who profess to care but yet never managed to commit to following the blog can go to hell, where we will run into each other and you can explain yourself to me personally because I’m pretty sure I’m dying. I say this because my long-stored jeans and pants are not only fitting but are actually a bit loose. 

I know that sounds so weird that I’m wearing pants because it’s in the low 70s and 60s and still technically shorts weather, but it’s downright chilly in the morning so … pants. Not always but sometimes. And every time I have pulled out a pair, they’ve felt roomy. Like, everywhere. Even after eating a normal, healthy dinner and topping it off with triple the number of recommended servings of Peppermint Joe Joes.

Yes, I did recently have knee surgery and so probably have lost muscle but not in my gut, which is where I put on weight. 

The only answer it could possibly be is cachaça**.

Oh wait, no, that’s not it. Cachaça is Brazilian liquor made from fermented sugarcane juice. It’s delicious in a caipirinha. No, give me a minute to look it up again … Oh! I have the equally exotic sounding cachexia. 

Cachexia is not good like cachaça. In fact, it’s like the opposite of fermented, alcohol-y goodness because cachexia means weakness and wasting of the body due to severe chronic illness. It’s actually managed to do what three years of CrossFit has not—helped me lose weight. I mean, sure I’m probably gonna die but I’ve done a lot on my bucket list — had kids, wrote a few books, perfected a chocolate chip cookie recipe, learned how to drive stick shift, designed my own sneakers. I feel pretty darn good about my state of affairs, but also it’s kind of a shame because I did finally just get my travel driver’s license, which I had been putting off for years because it took exactly that long to have a good hair day. 

*This. reference needs no explanation if you read my first book. And if you did, thank you and you’re my favorite.

**That lil’ curlicue there is called a cedilla, FYI.