I was happy. I was unaware. I was moving along in life just fine, when a chance encounter with illness violently spun me off the track. And within a span of 48 seemingly simple hours, my whole life changed.
It all began in that vile hospital room. I was helplessly minding my own business like any other patient, when they suddenly unleashed the Nutritionist on me. No permission, no knocking, she just came stomping into my room and spat the fun out of my life.
As she stared at me, I could almost see the words swirling around her big cruel head, “Oooh this one looks too happy to deserve to be happy. Me wants to unhinge that little untroubled smile! Me wants to throw a spanner in that plate full of joy. Double double, toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble!”
And just like that gone were the blissful days of gorging on the unhealthy. Junk forcefully made way for nutrition. And after 24 years of persistently scorning the salad, I suddenly had to face it in my plate. The sheer trauma of the situation earned me two long weeks of bed rest.
I still haven’t recovered. In fact, things have gotten worse. These days a pocketful of pills and an evil diet plan constantly trail me from the shadows. And I am forever plagued with meal time nightmares. Each unnerving episode has the same story to tell. I am sitting for my meal when my peaceful plate is ruthlessly taken over by a huge, leafy green monster. And as I desparetly try to scamper away from it, the monster swells, comes even closer and mercilessly gobbles me up.
Burp.
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