One morning in September, I woke up feeling a bit unusual. I went to the bathroom and I saw that I was bloated and had grown a beard. Was that possible? I thought. No man could grow a beard in the middle of the night. "Something's wrong with the mirror," I chuckled. I got on the scale and saw that the numbers were increasing rapidly. "What? Something's wrong with the scale!" I screamed in disbelief. I had a meeting to go to that very day and none of my clothes could fit! The only clothes that do fit at the moment were a pair of sweatpants with a grey shirt.
After putting on my sweats, I rushed through traffic to get to my meeting. All of my colleagues stared at me. So, I told them that the dry cleaner went up in flames and caused all of my clothes to burn up.
My boss, Alan Whittle, looked at me. "God, Calvin. Your weight. What happened?"
"Bee sting," I replied. "Evidently I'm allergic. Almost killed me. But the guy at the emergency room says..the swelling will go down. I hope." I sat down at the table. Apparently, I didn't miss anything at the meeting. Everyone was just about to order lunch. I ordered a Caesar salad without any dressing, but I really had the craving for desserts, so I asked for a homemade chocolate chip cookie, a slice of cheesecake, crème brulee, a hot fudge sundae, and a glass of ice-cold milk to wash it down.
"Stung by a bee, Scott?" asked Susan, my partner for the Do-It-All-For-You-Dolly.
"A big bee," I insisted.
After lunch, we all began discussing our TV spot for our new toy we're developing, the Total Tank. That's when I started getting carried away. I complained that the elves didn't look younger and should be given silver specks on their cheeks, Santa should be riding in the sleigh with the reindeer instead of the Total Tank, and requested that we should make an easy and inexpensive toy for the children.
My boss was very concerned. "Calvin, can I see you outside a minute?"
I followed him out the door.
"I don't know what's happening to you," Mr. Whittle continued. "You're starting to look like the Pillsbury Dough Boy. Y-You're falling apart."
"I know! I know," I replied. "I don't know what came over me."
"W-Well, just get some help," Mr. Whittle suggested. "You know, y-you should s-see a doctor, a shrink, a dietician, anything. Just get some help."
I called up my doctor and very good friend of mine, Dr. Pete Novos, after I got home that afternoon. He told me that he is available the next morning. When I got there, Pete was already waiting for me in his office.
"How are the kids, Scott?" Pete asked. I told him that Charlie and Ella are doing well and will be heading back to school soon. Charlie had turned 9 and is going to fourth grade. Ella graduated from kindergarten in June and is going into first grade.
Pete had me run on the treadmill for about thirty minutes and then he checked my pulse. Afterwards, he told me that he couldn't find anything wrong with me, but when I told him that my diet was milk and cookies, but I don't finish all of the milk, he simply told me to cut back on the sweets.
"Anything else?" Pete asked me.
"Yeah," I replied. "How fast does hair grow? Facial hair?"
"What?"
"I shave in the morning and in the afternoon I look like this," I said, pointing to my full-grown beard. Pete told me that it could just be a hormonal imbalance.
"That would explain the mood swings," I added.
"Mood swings?"
"Yeah, well, look at my hair. It's turnin' grey."
"Oh, it's middle age, buddy. It happens. And with that body, you should be thankful you have hair. Look, i-if it bothers you, you can dye it, and you should diet!" Pete joked. When he checked my heart, the strangest thing happened. I took a few deep breaths in and out and then when Pete and I could hear my heart beat to "Jingle Bells." Pete gave me a funny look, but then he had me change back into my clothes. Afterwards, he told me to contact him in case if anything happens.
