I got knifed

I dragged myself to the dreaded annual physical the other day. I should have been thrilled to be out of the house alone, but, honestly, this is not anymore exciting than getting the car inspected, which is basically the same thing, right? As I am the classic text book example of the most boring patient EVER (no smoking, no drinking, no dangerous extracurricular activities, etc.), I have to say that I was shocked when I became riddled with angst and feelings like I was being sent to the principal's office (which, I have heard, is miserable). Upon arrival, I felt compelled to explain to my doctor that this was not, in fact, my body. I was simply using this one as a loaner since my actual real body was tanned and taut and bikini clad and frolicking somewhere, like Bermuda or some other fabulous place. These aren't my stretch marks and this certainly is not my bottom (don't think he bought it) and gosh, there is no way that the 33 year old staring at me in the mirror could possibly be me. But, alas, it is me. And since it is me and that suspicious looking mole is on that arm that belongs to me, I was numbed and sliced and stitched and bandaged. And it hurt. But, I am ok and I know that it's better to listen to this body (hard) than to ignore it (easier). We should all take a closer (not mean and judgemental) look at ourselves and do what we can to stay strong and healthful and lead the lives that we would want our children to live. But, if anyone asks, I totally got knifed. That sounds so much cooler.