Guilt

I spend so much time hanging my head in shame that I’m worried my head will eventually snap off!  I am on the receiving end of a lot of guilt – particularly from the Professionals in my life. People who are paid a fee to perform a service for me – make me feel guilty!

I feel guilty when I go to see my Doctor because I have fallen off of the diet/exercise wagon – again.  I feel guilty when I go to the Dentist because I don’t floss as often as I should.  And, if I do floss, I am not doing it properly. I am reminded that I need to wear my night guard every night because my persistent night-grinding is causing my teeth to crumble into dust.

The Chiropractor reminds me that I need to do the prescribed daily exercises (rolling around on a foam roller and walking 20 feet with a huge elastic band around my knees) because my successful healing is contingent on my contribution to the program.

The Car Mechanic reminds me that if I maintained a more faithful tune-up schedule I would not require expensive emergency service on my vehicle. How often are you supposed to change the oil anyway?

The Doggie Groomer reminds me that if I would bathe and brush my dogs more often, I would not need to bring them to her in a filthy, tatted and unrecognizable condition.

My most recent guilt-inducing incident occurred at the Vet’s office. My cat, Grommet, was placed on the scale and it was announced he was marginally overweight. I was reminded overweight animals are prone to all kinds of health issues. The following conversation ensued:

Vet:  What type of food do you feed this cat?

Me:   The kind that comes in the tin can.

Vet:  What brand of cat food is it?

Me:  Well… I’m… Whiskies?  Friskies?  The can has a picture of a cat on the front.  I think it is a white cat… yes… it is a close-up of a white cat and I believe the cat is leaning against its own little cat paw…  and sort of gazing into space.

Vet:  I see. What percentage of crude protein does your cat food provide?

Me:  Uh… that is something I do not know.

The interrogation escalated and I continued to blurt out lame and inept answers.  I squirmed uncomfortably until the appointment was finally over.  I paid my $200 bill and was given strict instructions to read the ingredient list on the can.  I was also told to keep a food journal and record every single calorie that goes into my cat’s mouth. I promised that I would follow all of the advice I’d been given and I walked slowly to my car – with my head hung low.