If we aren't convinced we're one foot in the grave when looking symptoms online, we're getting there quicker with the food we eat.
I read somewhere that injecting chickens with hormones was making their breasts bigger.
"I'm not buying Dolly Parton chicken anymore," I state to the family.
"What are you talking about?" The hubby asks.
"They are making chickens with big boobs, I want chicken with normal boobs," I say.
"Hmm chicken with big boobs, more for your plate." He says.
"You don't want fake boobs, you want real boobs!" I say.
He laughs saying a line from a favorite movie, "Honey, you boobs feel different. That's because they are real."
"I want to know what I am eating is real, smaller is better, who wants free range chickens with big boobs, how will they get around?" I argue.
"Chickens with big boobs, what a picture," he replies.
Of course I follow him there picturing chickens pole dancing with huge breasts, free ranging around realizing they need a good bra, something to hold those puppies in place. I can feel their pain.
"We're getting free range, organic, normal food fed, small breasted chickens. I don't care if the watermelon chickens cost the same price, I want to make sure that shit is real," I say. Our refrigerator is full of small breasted, happy chicken breast, well happy until they met their demise.
Then I start reading about red meat.
"Did you know that we can catch mad cow disease from meat? It could drive us crazy?" I ask.
"You think our meat is driving us crazy?" He asks pointing over to two boys fighting over God knows what.
"This is serious business. There's female hormones in the beef, you could get boobs if you eat too much meat!" I say pointing to the online article, " Man boobs."
"So that's what happened to Bennie," he says with a laugh, "Too many Man Boob hamburgers, at least his Man Boobs are real."
"We've got stop eating hormone meat, especially beef. You don't know what all those hormones are doing to your body," I say showing him the article.
"We all know you've got enough hormones rolling around in there, you don't need Man Boobs," he says with a laugh.
"I'm not worried about the boobs, I'm worried your brain could turn to swiss cheese from Mad Cow Disease."
"My brain is perfectly preserved and fully sanitized," he laughs taking a sip of his PBR, "Are we going to eat dinner tonight?"
"I bought us grass fed, free range, colloidal silver beef for dinner," Say presenting the roast like it is the Holy Grail, showing them the packaging in case they didn't believe me.
"Are we eating the cow's butt?" One of the children ask.
"It says Rump Roast. I'm not eating cows butt," one says while the other looks horrified.
"It's not the butt, it's the shoulder, and it's local organic and grass fed," I reply.
"Then why call it a butt if it isn't a butt?" He asks.
"I don't know, but it is good for you," I reply.
So I'm left with 4lbs of butt no one will touch, grass fed or not grass fed because I'm the only one that realizes it isn't a cow's butt.
Or perhaps am I going crazy from Mad Cow disease, perhaps a glass of alcohol will resanitize my brain.
Are my boobs getting bigger?
Of course the hubby then mentions we can just eat fish.
Fish? Fish? Do you know what they do to fish?
To be continued......