It's that time of the year on the Eldership when all two of us on the crew go in for our annual physicals. Going in for a physical on the Eldership is kind of like going in for your annual review at work - except there's NEVER any good news. The good doctors serving Elder Fleet Command (ElFeetCo) never say things like, "Oh you've done so well this year" or "I so happy to see your (fill in the blank) numbers are so good, or "For a person of your age this is just fine." No what your going to hear is "(Sigh) I'm not happy about these (fill in the blank) numbers at all" or "You realize this is a precursor for (fill in the blank) horrible thing that will happen to you" or (the most dreaded of all) "I think you should give up (fill in the blank) which I realize you love but is killing you." The official mission statement of the ElFeetCo Medical Corp is "Damn the Quality of Life - Live as Long as You Can!"
So it is that Captain de-I and First Office Wife (it being my turn this week to have command) have been told in no uncertain terms that we need to get off of white bread. Now I think you know the culinary standards we set here on the Eldership de-I so I'm not talking about your crappy grocery store bought white bread. At the Officers Mess (and the Enlisted Mess too since we fill all the roles), we loves our artisinal French style breads. Much better quality stuff, wonderful to eat, and just as bad for you because it's just white bread done right.
So we are moving on to various types of 3000 grain bread, rye breads, spelt bread (not the good stuff you get in Amsterdam, the stuff that reminds you of really expensive cardboard), etc. However, when we did our inventory of the food storage we found a number of pieces of French bread left in the freezer. Now most normal people would respond to this merely by throwing them out. But seeing as both Wife and I have the hardest time throwing anything out (For God's Sake people are starving in Southern Sudan - eat it!), a discussion (argument?) ensued as to who should finish it.
This led to mutual accusations that one was trying to kill off the other to secure permanently the top command on the ship. As Wife and I really do love each other (when we are not trying to bump each other off to get command of the ship), we resolved this by agreeing to share the remaining bread of death. As we were assured by our doctors that eating this bread was going to do us in, we decided to make this a romantic last meal thing with profuse expressions of love, candles burning, using plenty of butter, jam and honey (it's our last meal you know, why worry), eating the bread ensemble and then giving each other a last kiss with crumb coated lips. Sigh, the way one should want to go.
As fate would have it we, nothing terminal happened. We just gained a few pounds when we weighed ourselves the next morning.