QUORN

Last week, on my birthday, I got one of those annoying phone calls from my doctor. You know, the kind that says, "Frank, tests came back. Got to lose 50 pounds or you're a dead man. Cholesterol, high blood pressure, hypertension, gout, sleep apnea, etc., etc." Like I've never heard that before! So I started in on a hearty breakfast of double-yoked eggs, sausage links, and fried potatoes. I like to break the yokes, mix everything together, and then douse it with salt, ketchup, and hot sauce. It gives me strength for the day ahead. But before I could take a bite, my mother (yes, I live with my mother, but it's just temporary) threw my food away in a fit of rage. Probably some kind of intervention she saw on Dr. Phil. 

"Franklin," she shrieked, "I've put up with a lot of crap from you. You're thirty-six years old, Franklin. When are you going to throw away those damn comic books and get a job - after your heart attack?" 

There was a lot more but I'll share only that plenty of guys my age still play Dungeons and Dragons and have Star Wars wallpaper - or at least they would if their wives allowed it, which is a sadness of its own. But then I've always been able to place others' misfortunes ahead of mine. Now to be fair, my "comic books" are really graphic novels. On the literary scale of things, there's quite a difference. 

 
But you can't explain these things to a mother, especially one who's hopped up on Dr. Phil and is also playing the rent, job and food card. So I made a loose commitment to change and, upon my mother's directive, went to the supermarket to buy some healthy food. I must admit that the fruit and produce was lovely. However, since I don't eat fruits and vegetables, this was of little help. Neither was the extensive selection of ersatz not-meat food products, goat milk yogurt, and barley groats. It begs the question, "What is a groat?" The only item I recognized was corn, only it was spelled QUORN on a box in the frozen section and is technically called Fusarium Venenatum, a fungus native to Buckinghamshire, England. It made no sense. I began to feel out of place and a little paranoid. Perhaps my mother and Dr. Phil were right: I was a hopeless case, a walking heart-attack at the tender age of thirty-six. 
Indeed, when I asked a stock boy (name tag: Gene) where in the health food aisle I could find mortadella, Gene said, "Morta-what?" I told him it was a special type of bologna made from finely hashed/ground heat-cured pork sausage. He looked concerned. So I explained the whole thing: about high cholesterol, my mother's threats, and Star Wars. 
Gene proved to be an excellent listener and, in a wave of nostalgia that touched my heart, disclosed that his girlfriend had made him take down the Star Trek wallpaper in his own apartment. 

She also pressured him to give up his weekly Dungeon's and Dragons game despite his status as an especially revered Dungeon Master. He was obviously distraught. You can see where all of this is going, I'm sure. With my help, Gene called his girlfriend and confronted her. She immediately packed her bags and left - an unforeseen event that goes to show you really can't trust women. 

Because of his flagrant sobbing, I deduced that Gene was in no shape to work. And, like any responsible citizen, I took Gene across the parking lot to Chili's for nachos, ribs, and a couple molten lava chocolate cakes. Four beers and as many appetizer platters later, Gene regained some of his wits; he called three of his D&D friends to set up an emergency "after-hours" game. We all met at Gene's empty apartment (girlfriend took furniture) for an epic D&D game that lasted through the next day. Gene's friends were very cool and offered to split rent on account that Gene got fired. I agreed to move in as well, with my share of rent to be held in abeyance until suitable work should present itself. The situation was a positive one for us all, although Gene complained about losing his bedroom. He did understand that it was only because of my sleep apnea and other health risks that I needed a private space. 
As for my mother, I still love her dearly, but she'll have to find someone else to practice her interventions on. And when I'm ready to lose those 50 pounds I will do whatever it takes aside from diet and exercise. 
Why? Because I am my own man. And I, Frank Santos, have my very own 5th of an apartment and I am currently the most feared D&D Rogue in the greater Ithaca metropolitan region.