love in the time of cholesterol
Imperceptibly, the time has come where I’m worrying less about appearances and more about arteries. All the cake, cookies and sweet things R. eats have to be going somewhere. It’s nowhere on his lean frame. I sit on the bed sometimes and watch him going through his morning routine of stretches, sit-ups, and push-ups. When he twists sideways I’m alarmed at the bladelike span of his torso. Especially in contrast to me.
Are his arteries crusting over with a fine sugar-glaze? Is the propulsion of blood through his veins becoming syrupy? I am somehow reassured by my own irrepressible body fat. At least my gustatory indulgences show up for roll call.
“You should start going for an annual physical, or something,” I told him. “Blood pressure, cholesteral.” He looked over and responded “Yeah? Maybe,” and for a moment we stared at each other, the first hint of mid-life entering into the context of things like a falling leaf.
