Last week I went to see the doctor. Because we needed to talk. Seriously.
...Well, actually I went to see him because I wanted to know if my body would tell me if we were doing too much (sports) or if I risked spontaneous human combustion because of exhaustion one of these days. No, I'm not exhausted, but that's just the thing. I needed to know whether or not I would continue feeling swell until my body gave up or not.
The doctor, a very nice young man, somewhere in his 40s and therefore not that much older than me, told me not to worry and went on to tell me about many other things that I didn't ask about and that didn't answer any of the other questions I had, but he was so taken with his monologue that I didn't want to interrupt, either. We discussed the hypoglycemia issue, the advantages of running and kick boxing (which I find nifty because the day I meet an opponent who turns out too strong to box, I can probably still outrun him) and proper nutrition.
When he was finally ready to let me go (he does like to talk) we shook hands and he kept mine a while longer than necessary, looked deep into my eyes and asked 'but does it really have to be kick boxing?' in a desperate sort of way.
What was I to answer? 'Heck yes, I failed the pea test for princess sports so they wouldn't take me, but it's actually not that bad, I can still box in a Tutu because I practice in a girls-only club?'