I went to my doctor’s office a few weeks ago, just for my annual checkup.
I’m sitting there, unclothed and shivering in my flimsy gown on the crinkly piece of protective paper. The usual awkward, sterile experience. All of a sudden, my doctor rushes into the room in a gust of hostile energy. “I’m sick and tired of everyone becoming borderline diabetic,” she rants. “We’ve got to eat better! It’s the white stuff that’s going to kill us!” Continue reading