REJECTED!

    On Tuesday I suffered a terrible blow to my pride.
    I was deemed unworthy, was found unacceptable.
    I was rejected from giving blood.
    Through all my years of donating, this has only happened once (and then it was because I had had a blood test the day before my donation appointment). But on Tuesday I was rejected because of health reasons. I am, to put it simply, too fat to donate.
    I filled out the forms, answered their questions, but I was still kept from doing my part. As usual, I was prepared to donate while lying on the floor, since I have crushed too many of those rickety metal tables from my weight. But, sadly, unexpectedly, frustratingly, the Red Cross center I went to could not find a needle long enough to penetrate to my vein.
    They tried, believe me they tried. One nurse practically stood on my arm to try and force the needle in deeper. Another nurse likened the enterprise to “drilling for oil.”
    However, the layers of fat I consistently add each year proved too much for them, the blood I was willing to share eluded them, and they were forced to let me go on my way. (That is, of course, after I had at least helped myself to some juice and cookies and donuts for my troubles.)    I was presented a chart, which I reproduce here, which might explain the problem. It appears my first stratum of flab (which is responsible for the cute jiggly motions that so entertain the children) has expanded at an abnormal rate. In a sense, it is swallowing up my muscle the way I would gobble up a chicken nugget (and just about as greasily).
    Presumably this is a health risk. And presumably this means I should probably cut down on red meat or buckets of chicken (at least while driving). But I’m still so depressed about being rejected that it’s tough to stop eating these microwave cheese sticks.