I know what's going to happen.
I'm going to go in for my yearly physical and the doctor is going to give me the evil eye.
He'll ask if I'm feeling ok; do I feel dizzy when I stand up; do I have a hard time breathing; how's you're back feel? You still riding that motorbike?
Fine. Sometimes. Nope. Old. Hell yeah!
He'll tell me my "numbers" are sky high and that it's amazing I'm still alive.
God works in mysterious ways.
He'll tell me I should eat better and get some exercise 'cause the Grim Reaper doesn't need to knock at my door. He has the key.
Thanks, Doc. Mighty comforting.
And the reason he's going to say all this is because I've been on vacation.
And I learned to bake banana nut bread.
Two months with nothing to do, no place to go, no money to get there even if I wanted to, and me just sitting around on the porch, taking photos of stuff and birds, tweeting, blogging, tends to make you want to try new things.
So I made banana nut bread.
Probably 14 loaves.
Well, not all on the same day.
But when you're sitting and baking, and then EATING -- that's the kicker of course -- EATING 14 loaves of banana nut bread (not by myself, of course), well, you get old and fat.
And death can smell old and fat.
It eats it up like banana nut bread
I'm so screwed.