After my teensy weensy salad for lunch, I stopped by the automatic blood pressure machine.
I stepped up on the pad, placed my arm in the cuff. The automated voice said, “Press the blue button that best describes your height in shoes.” I picked 6′ 2″, even though I’m shrinking as I get older. I might only be 5′ 2″ by now.
The automated voice said, “I have to squeeze your forearm a little.” Some hidden motor starts whirring, the cuff starts inflating. The voice continues, “Please do not move or talk.”
Uh oh. My nose tickles. I can’t scratch it, that would be moving. I try to stand still. The cuff is almost entirely inflated.
Er… this is going to be serious. I think I’m going to … going… ah…. ah CHOOOOOOO! A mega sneeze (I don’t do nuttin’ halfway) overtakes me. Ahh… ahh… I always sneeze in pairs… ah CHOOOOO!
Ah, a good sneeze is so satisfying. The cuff deflates. My blood pressure is 230/150.
I don’t think I’ll log that one. 😛
Chasing the Wind 
I think your skin will start toasting if your blood pressure goes any higher.
How was your cooking class?
xxx
mom
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Ok, I ‘fess up. I made up the numbers. I actually didn’t get a reading. 😎
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fake reports on my brothers blog?!?
With that, you might be in the running for that opening at CBS:lol:
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I prefer to think of it as “literary license”. Would the story still be funny if the machine simply refused to give me a reading? I think not. 🙄
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your right, it was funnier. 😛
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I’m funnier with numbers cuz I’m an engineer.
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