Quick Conversation with Mr. Aloha

So my husband and I recently had a conversation. This is not strange as we frequently talk to each other, mostly because we don't talk to anyone else.I had my yearly physical and all the bloodwork that goes with being over forty (ahem) and having ha…

So my husband and I recently had a conversation. This is not strange as we frequently talk to each other, mostly because we don't talk to anyone else.

I had my yearly physical and all the bloodwork that goes with being over forty (ahem) and having had gestational diabetes and pretty much being a depressed writer type. Everything came back fine, except my Vitamin D was low. They wanted another test so I looked at the request and then threw it away. Then they sent me a reminder to get the blood test already. Here's the conversation with my husband, Mr. Aloha.

ME: So I'm fine. Blood work thingies are all good.

MR. ALOHA: Okay. That's good right?

ME: Well, they say my vitamin D is low or something. I don't even know what that is. Isn't it in cereal or something?

MR. ALOHA: That's the sunshine vitamin. Most people are fine because they sit outside for ten minutes and they get the vitamin. I'm not surprised yours is low.

ME: What are you saying? Are you saying I never go outside?

MR. ALOHA: Yes. Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying.

ME: I go outside. I do. I go out all the time. I went outside two days ago.

MR. ALOHA: Really?

ME: Okay. It was a few days ago. And it was at night. I don't like the sun. It burns. It's hot. It makes me squint. I pretty much hate summer. I want to kick summer in the gonads. The GONADS.

MR. ALOHA: Yeah. That's what I'm saying. You're low on Vitamin D.

ME: Is that important? Like should I get retested and then get one of those shots in the butt? Isn't that a bunch of granola hooey? Like, you should take this here vitamin and all your worries will melt away. That's not how it works. Therapy is how that works, and I don't have time for that either. 

MR. ALOHA: I think it means you're low on Vitamin D. Leave the house. Or get a shot. Stop being a pussy.

 

Okay....he didn't actually call me a pussy but that seemed like the natural end line for the scene.

The point is...

Actually, there's no point really.

Except maybe I do need to leave the house on occasion. And take care of my health or whatever. And maybe like, I don't know, interact with actual living, breathing people right away. And I will. In October. October is sunny, right? 

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