I’m married to a Malaysian. I did not know this for eleven + years. What’s more, I never even had a suspicion that the Contrarian was not a full-blooded Iowa farm boy of pale-Euro descent.
How did we find out? The doctor told us. And doctors aren’t often wrong on these things.
‘Splain it to me Lucy, as Ricky used to say.
Yesterday, (you noticed my absence I hope), we spent some time at the VA in Cedar Rapids. The Contrarian has had increasingly limited mobility in his shoulders with severe pain. I put it down to bursitis. Anyway, (oh it probably is bursitis by-the-way) his new doctor, “Susan,” was going over some of his other recent tests.
As usual, they all gush and rush to share with all the other doctors his phenomenal and frankly weird cholesterol numbers. He has amazingly low bad cholesterol and freakin’ high “good” cholesterol.
Well, it turns out that there are only three reasons for such a result:
- A super great low-fat, salt, sugar diet. This one is laughable in regards the Contrarian. He thinks that bacon/peanut butter sandwiches are breakfast food, followed only by his second favorite: bologna/peanut butter. Gravy is something that is drinkable, and a meal is not a meal without red meat, or pork chops. So this is not the source of his medical miracle.
- An exercise routine that borders on world-class athleticism. We are talking triathlon here. To know the Contrarian is to know why couches were invented and lazy boy (soooo aptly named) chairs. Plenty of times the dear man lumbers from the bed to his chair where he remains with the ubiquitous remote all day until he lumbers back to bed. He does, however, lumber to the kitchen table for one of his meals, because I insist.
- You are Malaysian. No, before you ask, I have no freakin’ idea why this is the case.
So you see, he must be Malaysian, since it is not remotely possible that he qualifies in the other two categories. The things you learn in marriage. I’m not sure how I feel about all this. I don’t know anything about Malaysia, except that the Google Images suggests there are lots of nice beaches there, so it could be okay with me. I’m keeping an open mind.
Personally, I think there is another answer. My husband, after all, spent a year in that general area fighting a war. And I think some monkey bit him and mutated a gene. I’m not quite sure of the medical how-to’s about all this, but I’m pretty sure that explains it.
If that doesn’t answer it, then I figure his father, who also fought a war in the South Pacific, got bit by the monkey and he genetically infected his offspring with this stupidly-super-healthy cholesterol thingie.
There must be an answer, or I’m forced to question whether God has been hitting the sauce again, or was, during the conception of one of his children. I mean, you cannot imagine the ribbing and all-around crap I have to take because of this.
The twinkling eyes, the nodding head, the “I should write a diet book” talk. I get it all. The sanctimony is dripping. I mean it’s simply not fair that he can sit there doing exactly the opposite of what every decent doctor in the land would tell a person. It’s not fair.
Oh and get this. He is pre-pre-diabetic. This means nothing much, except that it means he can eat sugar like crazy and not put on weight. Yeah, and the doctor said, he might have been that way from birth too. How nutzy is that? How deeply unfair? God, what is this?
The rest of us struggle and gain three pounds just looking at a dove chocolate, let alone eat it. And he waves his candy bars (yes I said, bars) in my face and chortles with delight.
I nag and cajole all the day long on better diet, exercise, and all around good health, and this man not only refuses to engage in anything remotely resembling sane eating and exercise, and then to boot, gets his doctor to back him up.
I spent a number of hours last night, discussing this all with God, and he just says, “trust me, I know what I’m doing.”
I’m not sure I can swallow that any more. I’m not sure I can take it any longer either. I mean he’s being merciless in teasing me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was some bribery involved and a payoff. Yeah, that’s probably it.
About the only good this has done me is that dinner planning has been simplified. Just make that a plate of lard with a dessert of butter.
And I’m packing to visit the homeland. Those beaches look mighty inviting.
Existential Ennui 