An open love list to my gallbladder, now deceased.
“But Since U Been Gone/I can breathe for the first time/I’m so moving on/Yeah, yeah/Thanks to you/Now I get/What I want [to eat]/Since U Been Gone.”*
–Kelly Clarkson (*more or less)
Well, you’re gone now, but the scars you left will take a while to heal. Luckily, they closely resemble the constellation Cancer, so I’m not exactly annoyed. And the maillot is making a comeback, of course.
It might be the T3s talking, but I’m feeling a bit nostalgic about you, my little bag of naturally-forming marbles.
What better than to regale my top three worst moments with you:
3. Amidst the soundtrack score of slot-machine ka-chings! and do-da-lee-dees!, your fury struck and I heaved and heaved into Casino Rama porcelain prior to The Cars taking the stage, where you allowed me to clap along (politely) to “My Best Friend’s Girl” and “Just What I Needed.” But I certainly wasn’t dancing during “Let The Good Times Roll.” Jerk.
2. Watching the facial expression of a very attractive medical intern change from possibly interested to definitely professional [warm smile to subtle frown], after I was forced to describe, in detail, all things fecal. Jerk.
1. And of course the trophy goes to our first meeting/attack, where I was convinced I was a) having a heart attack, b) forcing my lungs out through my ribcage and c) just plain dying. Thanks to that meeting, I was banned from consuming fat, products containing fat, and ultimately flavour of any sort.
Tomorrow, I will avenge my diet. Tomorrow … I dine on Eggs Benedict and blubber.
I will think of you fondly,
PS: … NOT!