So, I've reached the age where I don't just go to the doctor when bones break the skin. I need maintenance. During a recent check up, I was informed that, while my general health was at a level that is typically associated with wearing spandex under your clothes, my blood was, basically, gravy.
What followed were some undignified palpatations to make sure my liver hadn't turned into pâté, a second blood test, and a stern admonishment against ingesting any fat whatsoever.
In looking at my diet to eliminate the fat, pretty much all I could find was olive oil and milk fat. It's pretty easy to cut down on the amount of olive oil I cook with, but I'd rather drop dairy all together than eat its various nonfat iterations. And, man, I can live a low-cheese lifestyle, but no-cheese? That is unkind. Especially since friends had just clued me into a really decent purveyor of calzones within walking distance of my house.
On Monday I got the results of the second blood test, and HURRAY! It's normal! Apparently, the first one was a fluke.
Guess how I celebrated?