I'm good enough
I never thought I was good enough. Honestly.
I prefer to leave the greater things in life for my family, friends and the millions of people out there to establish. Sitting at the sideline watching the people I care for reaching the pinnacle of their career is a bliss in itself. Really.
A few days ago, I decided to leave my comfortable cubby hole and join the rat race. In the mad paper chase. I wished I've been more dilligent and religious with practising the IQ quizzes featured next to the comic page on the sunday's paper. Here's why...
Each contestant has to be certified 'fit' by designated doctors. It has been years since I last had a medical check up. A natural phobia for needles and co doesn't help either. -groans-
The hospital was an upscale place. One can easily mistook it for a corporate building along the business district. The receptionists were friendly and quick to assure my qualms about needles. Smiling a little and feeling braver, I made my way along the long corridors for my first appointment.
The door plate reads "Dr B". He has an impressive CV on that plate which I roughly summarise as Specialist in Bones.
You leave no stone unturned in your regular exercise regime. You have surprising agility and strong bones.
PASSED.
Next stop, Dr Z the Eye Doctor. Inquisitive and sharp eyesight.
PASSED.
Phew...2 check-ups and how many times have I said "Ahhhhhhhhhh" with a stick stuck down my throat and a light beam picking up all the leftover food decay stuck between my teeth? Oh well...let's not go down into the specifics of my mouth interior. Back to my medical check up.
Third appointment: Dr P. Neurosurgeon.
Big name but I wasn't too particularly worried over this though. Since I'm a horn-rimmed couch potato whose greatest athletic achievement is cleaning up the plates and doing hourly gastronomic stretching, I've more to fret over my bones and eyes. And I'm certified fit! What can be possibly go wrong with my brains then? I am such a law-abiding citizen. No pornography or radical activist sentiments for toothy me.
Into the room I marched! Dr P was the most gentle doctor of the three. Just a couple of questions, routine checkup on my "Ahhhhh" decibel and CAT scan, and I'm free to get my noon chow. Bade the amiable Dr P goodbye and dashed (I do really mean dashed) off for my lunch.
Dr P wasn't around when I returned to collect my brain report later but he left a note for me though. Reading the note as I walked out, I nearly walked headfirst into the glass panel. Unfit! He failed my brains! What's wrong with my brains? I mean I only have lower grey matter capacity than others, slower in responding to his quirky brain questions. But I'm definitely not senile! Goodness.
Agile, sharp eyesight but senile. Laughable.
Back to my V.I.P seat on the sideline. This time I'm importing my snack bar (complete with chilled beverage, mexican coffee beans, cakes, chocolate), jumbo fan, giant shelter, a cheesy book, and an Osim chair.
Life is too short to spend torturing my behind with piles from prolonged sitting on a hard seat, heatstroke from extensive sunlight exposure, illiteracy from lack of reading the written text, malnourishment from food abstinence, and a crooked spine from leaning on a harsh back.
In conclusion, my new philosphy in life is: Vegetating on the sideline in comfort.
That at least, I'm good enough for.
posted by Michelle at
11:58 PM
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