I can’t be 100% sure, but I think I may be going through the change. Not just any change, but the change of life. Yes, that change. I know what you’re saying, “Michael, you’re just 31. You’re too young to go through the change. You haven’t even gotten your first gray hair yet. You’ve got years before you’ll go through the change.??? Well that’s what I thought too. However, lately I’ve been sweating like it’s nobody’s business and I have no other reasonable explanation for it. I mean, what else could it be? I wish I could just blame it on the heat, or on the alcohol like Jamie Foxx said, but sometimes I’ll just break out into a sweat just for the sake of it, even when it’s not hot temperature-wise. So, as painful as it is for me to admit, I guess it’s best for me to be honest and upfront with you before you hear it from some other source. Hello, my name is Michael and I’m a sweater.
When I mentioned my going through the change to my doctor, he just laughed, which I thought was highly unprofessional. I would fire him, but he’s the only doctor that my medical insurance will cover within the state of Maryland. Besides, not too many doctors run their practices out of the restroom of a Texaco gas station. It’s cool that he offers a $.10 per gallon discount on gas if you fill up during your office visit. Every penny saved goes a long way in this economy. It does kind of get awkward when his other patients arrive at the same time as I do. Just last week he was checking out my sweat issues while pulling some guy’s teeth and doing some woman’s gynecological exam. I just wish he had some form of divider so that the patients couldn’t actually see each other. That woman looked super uncomfortable the whole time. Oh, and I didn’t appreciate being asked to hold one of her legs up in the air.
Anyway, like my doctor, no one else seems to be taking my being menopausal seriously either. Most of the time people just stare at me when I spring the news on them. Perhaps I should be more discreet and not bring it up during dinner or talk to random people at the bus stop about it. They just don’t understand how dire my situation is. I mean, I could be sitting there, minding my own business, and my supervisor will simply call my name and that will be the cause of a torrential downpour from my forehead, down my nose, and into my morning coffee. Then, just when I think I’m the only one aware of the situation, someone will hand me a napkin and yell, “Yuck,??? which makes me sweat even more due to my embarrassment. Maybe I should be studied or something. Although menopause probably isn’t normal for a guy my age, maybe there is some form of pill or procedure I can have done. Botox? I’ll look into it.
Moving on, I’ve often wondered about my readers, who they are, how they stumbled upon the blog, and what they’re doing just before they begin reading one of my articles. I assume they aren’t driving while reading. That would be dangerous. But are my readers usually at work when they read—while on their breaks, of course? Are they making dinner and reading while waiting for the rice to boil? Maybe they read my blog as they’re having their first cup of coffee in the morning. Or, are they reading my blog as they tuck the kids in at night? Maybe my blog helps put the children to sleep. I’m not sure that’s a good thing, but as long as they’re reading, I guess I’m happy.
Ironically, I got my answer the other day when a new reader informed me that he was planning to read my blog the next time he was on the toilet. Wow. Prior to him mentioning it, the idea of someone reading my blog while embarking on something so personal had never even crossed my mind. Kind of gives new meaning to the term “a crappy read.??? I mean, he literally reaches for my blog and then reaches for the Charmin. Honestly, I can’t tell you how excited this revelation made me. I, Michael Rochelle, have now made it into the bathrooms of the American public. What an honor!!! So, that noted, I’d like to take a moment to give a shout out to all my restroom readers. If you happen to be taking care of your business right now, I hope everything is flowing smoothly. And don’t forget to wash your hands.
In other news, after the U.S. Open golf event left the area, I was asked to go play miniature golf. Actually, let’s call it Putt-Putt. I like that name better. And saying that you lost a game of Putt-Putt to a three year old sounds a lot less embarrassing than saying you lost a game of miniature golf to a toddler. I went in there all cocky, thinking my little bachelor’s degree in fine arts would finally serve some form of purpose, but I was not able to make a touchdown like I had planned. In fact, I wasn’t able to get a strike either. I did chase a few people around with my golf club—which was kind of fun, but you get absolutely no points for that whatsoever. I could definitely use a little more practice. Give me about another week or two and I’ll be ready for the big leagues. Hey, maybe I could get so good that I could play for the NHL. I’ve always wanted to be a New York Laker like Kobe. See, I know my sports. My dad would be so proud.
Speaking of sports, one of my buddies recently asked me to play soccer with him and his friends. Soccer!!! Me!!! Of all people!!! I mean, yes I could have some hidden talent that could make me a natural when I “Bend It Like Beckham,??? but I think it’s highly unlikely—especially after my failed attempt to get into the NFL last week. Who knew that there was a draft process and you couldn’t just ask one of the officials if you could throw the ball around a bit? I certainly didn’t. But anyway, I keep going over the various scenarios of my playing soccer in my head and none of them end well—or with me being alive afterwards. I picture someone thinking I’m a pro and kicking the ball my way. I’d then run for it, kick hard, miss the ball like Charlie Brown used to do, fly up in the air, and land on my head or something. It would then probably end up on YouTube, making me an overnight internet sensation like that Justin Bieber kid, and Diane Sawyer and Connie Chung would interview me in the hospital where I’d lie there all bandaged up and promote my blog. Hmmm. Maybe this soccer thing doesn’t sound like such a bad idea after all. I mean, if Tom Brady and Michael Jordan can be good at soccer, why can’t I?
Michael Rochelle
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a “sweater” I surely empathize, man. And DC’s humidity has really been doing a number on me. Thanks for offering a heavy situation a bit of liteness. I’m sure it was “no sweat” for you. LOL