No matter how you wrap it, no matter how you spin it, no matter who delivers the news, the phrase "lifestyle changes" simply means you'll be eating cardboard and having less time to read while sitting in your favorite chair. This is where I am - pre-diabetic, obese, and loving my deep-fried, sugar-coated, butter-drenched food. A well-meaning physician's assistant bearded this lioness in her den last Tuesday and so I am now faced with the challenge of lowering my bad cholesterol, raising my good cholesterol, and heading off Type 2 diabetes. And just when I've come into my own as a Southern cook. To quote Alanis Morissette, "Isn't it ironic?" My family is very supportive. Blythe has started a group board on Pinterest for the Martin girls to pin healthy recipes and tips for healthier living. Faith has thrown herself on the altar of Lifestyle Changes and vowed to be my accountability partner. Chelsea is monitoring her dad's Gloat Factor and his overeager and potentially life-threatening comments toward me and the fact that he has been right all along. "Tomorrow we start training, baby!" "We're going through our pantry and purging all the food that will tempt you, baby!" "We're walking in the morning, baby!" It appears that he believes that by adding the endearing epithet, "baby," to the end of these declarations it will somehow distract me from his nefarious plot to keep me alive during this time of sorrow and loss. That would be his first mistake. My children have reminded me that I can download audiobooks and listen to them as I walk. Nice try, girls. And I might give it a try. One day. When I allow myself to laugh once more. And the phrase "lifestyle changes." Is that supposed to soften the blow? Doctor: "Your numbers aren't horrible, but they do indicate that it's time to make a few lifestyle changes in order to avoid more serious health issues within the next two years." Translation: "Well, Fatty McFatterson, looks like you've got some splainin' to do! You're too fat. You need to lose 20% of your generous girth. You have obviously been eating more than you need over your 53 years and I am here to make your life miserable so you can continue living longer. And you're fat. Here's my prescription for cardboard and sawdust. Oh! And don't forget the Metamucil, because you're not feeling old enough already! Did I mention you're fat? See you in three months and we'll do it all over again! Peace out!" He is a nice man. He means well. But if he says "lifestyle changes" one more time I. Will. Cut. Him. So here I am. Sitting in my favorite chair mourning the loss of an hour a day - because that's when I'll be out walking. Getting fresh air and sending those bad triglycerides packing and helping the good glycerides (?) move in. I'm shedding tears as I apologetically stroke each book in my multiple to-be-read piles. I won't forget you. And I won't cheat on you with your slutty cousin, The Audiobook. I will return. Please. Wait for me.