I Think I know What's Going on Here

It started years ago when Mark moved in, with bags of chips, cakes, pies, and sumptuous meals. Candy and pancakes and waffles. Delicious food prepared with lots of fat and butter. There was suddenly all sorts of things in my pantry that I would have never put in there. I was a simple man who ate simple things. Meat and a vegetable, maybe a salad, that is what I ate before I met Mark. Even at breakfast, maybe a  pork chop and an egg.

And then there was the clutter. I lived in a starkly furnished apartment. As long as I had a bed, a table, and a nice chair to sit in, I was fine. But then along came Mark, and along with Mark came the stuff. Furniture, artwork, shelves filled with books. My house became a maze that I had to navigate every day. For a man with poor peripheral vision and a innate tendency towards clumsiness, this was clearly a recipe for damage to my body. But despite Mark's subtle attempts at trying to kill me with food and clutter, I have managed to survive with him for nearly twenty years.

I have never thought that he was purposely trying to kill me. Why would he? After all, I'm the nicest, most generous, easiest to get along with guy on Earth. But that was before Saturday when I stepped into the shower and thought for sure my time was up. It was like the surface of an ice rink in there. Mark had coated the entire floor of the shower with body wash gel. All I can say is, thank god that this house was owned by an old lady before me who had installed a shower grab bar. I clung to that grab bar with all my strength, while my feet went two different directions. I now believe it is time that I review my last will and testament. Maybe put a clause in there that if I die of obesity, or tripping over a piece of clutter, or if I slip in the shower and they find me lying there in a pool of body wash suds, Mark gets nothing.