Sometimes we are better off not knowing some things. Take high cholesterol, for instance. I was doing fine until a few years ago when I was told that mine was off the charts and that I would need to take drugs to get it down (translation: immediately age twenty years and inherit the energy level of an avocado), change my diet (translation: become a rabbit), and exercise more (translation: on second thought, become the Energizer rabbit). It was counterproductive.

Here are their rules:
1. Never eat or drink what you want again or you will DIE (there go my Manhattans, my half and half with my coffee, chocolate, desserts, prime rib, Caesar salads, gelato, scones, butter… and the list goes on).

2. Take these thirty pills and they will solve your problem (and you will NOT die, but you will feel like a crotchety old person who can’t move from the couch).

3. Exercise more and get that heart rate up! (Easier said than done… it’s all I can do to lift the remote and smack the snooze button on my alarm.)

So I’ve made up my own rules:
1. The doc must take the medication for three months before prescribing it to a patient. That way, he or she will KNOW how it feels to be tired, numb, irritable, tingly, and bloated (just a few of the less serious side effects). Instead of pushing the pharmaceutical of choice, perhaps they will think twice.

2. The doc must list his favorite foods and drinks and pull the list out every day as a reminder of what he or she is missing.

3. The patient gets to tie cement mitts to the doctor’s feet and hands, stick needles (NOT the painless, acupuncture kind) into various strategic points on the body, and annoyingly taunt said physician into doing push-ups, pull-ups, sprints, and bench presses, while smiling and waiting for his lettuce leaf. Run, rabbit, run.

And 4. NEVER let them look inside you.

Was I happier before? You betcha. I DID exercise more. I even dated. I danced, I walked, I lifted weights and I ate whatever I wanted, and I felt like I would live forever (thanks, docs, for reminding me that I’m not going to). I enjoyed life and I never felt guilty for eating (or even wanting) a big juicy steak (now I feel like I did every time I went to confession as a child and I’m sure that one of my Catechism nuns is waiting to slap the meat right out of me).

Do I really want to live longer if living is going to be like this? I honestly don’t know. I’m Italian. I like pasta, cream sauce, cheese, butter, veal parmigiana, wine (and Manhattans). Was I better off not knowing? I think so.

We’re all going to leave this planet. Some of us just know what is going to take us out. Until then, I’ll live my life with my hands over my ears singing “la la la” real loud (I can’t hear you!) and I’ll probably die with a cannoli in one hand and a meatball in the other.

Copyright 2008 Robyn Justo

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Robyn Justo is a freelance writer who is living, breathing, and learning the new rules of dating over 40. Experienced, but by no means an expert, she shares the frustrations, triumphs, and general hysteria of single life on the Monterey Peninsula. “The Expiration Date” addresses the lighter side of dating later in life. The names have been changed to protect the innocent (and the guilty). Robyn also occasionally hosts local social events for those brave-hearted single folks who actually have the courage to come out of the house.