My Borgia Biopsy

Having spent the last few weeks corresponding with doctors, unorthodox "specialists," and overly concerned mothers, I am finally able to compile my most comprehensive list of current biological conditions. You don't have to read any further. Avert your eyes if you choose, because the truth may shock you.

The required process of poking and prodding was complicated more by my already discovered fear of needles. [Big or small, it doesn't matter--and no, shots are not the same thing as having blood drawn. Putting something in is quite different than having something taken out. It's inside for a reason.] Alas, I was forced by my inherent existence as a man to submit to their vampirical lust. I don't know who they're trying to fool by hiding their insidiousness behind their white coats.

Starting with the most obvious and outwardly manifested issues with which I am plagued, one will notice my stark lack of height. Because of this I have had to choose my company carefully to reduce the frequency of extreme latitudinal comparisons. None of my close friends play basketball. For the longest time I consigned myself to the belief that this is due simply to family genes. In reality, the cause is a deep rooted fear, practically printed on my DNA, of vertical extremes. Vertigo, for all you Hitchcock fans out there. It is then simply a matter of self preservation that restricts my body from reaching even average height.

Along with the loss of a few inches, there is another bodily feature that seems to be missing. I don't know exactly when it happened, but my butt has inexcusably taken an unspecified leave of absence. Suffice it to say that, without any severe change to diet or exercise, many a pair of pants, shorts and slacks have become alarmingly baggy in the rear pockets.

Moving internally now I will discuss what has become a fairly recent nuisance. Chronic stomach pains, ranging from moderately discomforting to nauseating have plagued me for the better part of a month now. Many self-proclaimed experts may quickly attribute this to medicinal side effects or just label it as a consequence of lactose intolerance. And while it is true in some part that I can no longer fully tolerate the friends I once called cheese, milk and ice cream, I believe the real culprit is much more simple. You could say that it is "in my stars." My early summer birthday places me in the zodiacal definition of a Gemini. What that means then is that somewhere, unbeknownst to me, is my cosmic, if not identical twin. My hypothesis is as follows: due to the suddenness of my predicament, the only explanation is that my twin has also suddenly been inflicted with a legitimate injury to their person. Gastric bypass surgery perhaps, a sustained gunshot wound, or even cancer. Consequently, my own displeasure is nothing more than an astronomical case of sympathy pain.

Amidst all of this discovery I have also learned that my cholesterol is slightly higher than normal. But that's nothing a breakfast routine of Cheerios can't fix. Thank goodness too, because I might have started to worry otherwise.