As I sat with Mom in the examination room this morning, I had the pleasure of seeing the doctor who diagnosed me with so many sinus infections when I was a kid. It's been a good while since I've seen him, and it was different looking at him through an adult's eyes. He wasn't nearly so scary. That stethoscope seemed to have lost its teeth and fire-breathing mechanisms too...but then, he wasn't trying to torture me with a throat culture at the time, either.
He squeezed my shoulder upon entry, and smiled with twinkling eyes that blinked rapidly, trying to recognize me. He knew who I was, just not by sight. As he finished discussing things with Mom, he stopped before me to talk again. I prepared myself for him to say what most people who haven't seen me in a few years say...something in terms of my weight. People are always curious about such things...always on the look-out for the enchanted secret. I wish I had it for them, but it simply doesn't exist.
He chewed on his lips for a moment before asking on a chuckle, "So how tall did you end up getting? Four-eleven?"
Satire reared its ugly head and I imagined snarling, "Dude!—Yo! What's wrong with you!?—I lost 150 pounds and all you can ask about is my height!?" But instead, I gurgled a cherub's giggle and replied, "I call it five-even...for the sake of pride." Then, I told that mean old biddy in my head to take a hike.
Perhaps my two faces were easier to support when I had that second chin hanging around?
