Take That Chance!

d's birthday
Originally uploaded by Tokyorosa

"Dairy Buff" is the term that I made up to describe the bloated feeling I get after I eat dairy products, the very products pictured here. That's a medium (!) serving of plain frozen yogurt and a small scoop of apricot gelatto. David and I shared those, eating as much as we could, and taking about a third of it home. And then I paid the price for eating it. I eat dairy products very, very rarely, but when I do eat them, I suffer. Sometimes I'll have a slice of cheese pizza or eat some feta on a salad, but I never drink milk or add milk or cream to coffee. The gelatto and frozen yogurt were too good to pass up, and now I suffer.

I'll spare you the gory details, but today the discomfort was so bad that I almost skipped my early evening workout. The only reason I did end up going was because I hadn't seen my fabulous workout partner Kelly since last Friday (I have been to the gym since then, but she couldn't make it) and I knew that she had a backlog of stories to tell, stories about her recent trip to the emergency room with an ailing Russian coworker (who is, incidentally, addicted to pastry), stories about her ex-husband's best friend who has morphed into a transvestite, stories about her partner's twin's recent breakup. I just couldn't pass that up, so at six-thirty p.m. sharp I was waiting for Kelly at the gym. Of course Kelly was just late enough that I was able to fit in my cardio while I waited. (And I'll tell you, as a sternly punctual being, I am willing to forgive Kelly's chronic lateness because it's always a good time when she shows up.)

More than once during our workout sessions, Kelly has had me laughing so hard that I'm unable to lift any weight or do anything but collapse in laughter. Today for example, she was telling me about the Russian coworker's ER visit. His problem turned out to be a kidney stone. I asked her, "Doesn't that guy eat a lot of pastry? Are they sure it wasn't a pastry-related blockage?" and she replied, "Yeah, maybe it wasn't a kidney stone. Maybe it was a kidney scone." And then I fell off the pec deck machine. She kinda cracked herself up with that one, too.

Kelly is one of the appointed first-responder types at her workplace, which meant that she had to undergo some special training in things like first aid, CPR, and use of the defibrillator that is kept in the office. Her experience with her coworker and this training led, in part, to this recent email exchange:

I wrote:

If only it had been a heart attack, then you could've shocked him with that defibrillator you've been itching to try out on a live subject. Though handling man boobs would be--aaaaand I have to just let that thought go. Bye-bye, mental picture of him with his shirt off and you kneeling over him...readjusting his big--I SAID GOOD DAY, SIR!!

Kelly replied:

Yeah I was still a bit bummed that I didn't get to defibrillator him. I should have just gone ahead and done it. What could it hurt at that point? Well, it probably would have scarred me for life but I was willing to take that chance!