Maggie was in the type of mood that we like to call 'eeekey beekey'. It's the same mood you get when you combine PMT, a head cold and athlete's foot. In other words if you looked at her crooked she would have taken your eye out.
The diet and exercise regime was driving her nuts and no more so than when she asked for a cup of green tea in the coffee shop. This being Kildare they gave her Lyons Green Label.
Putting her knuckle in her mouth, she bit down hard to try and stop herself from giving someone a black eye.
"Whassup dudette?" asked Patsy when Maggie sat down. (Patsy occasionally slips into hip-hop slang to cover up the fact that she is ageing disgracefully.)
"If you must know I think I have AF," Maggie snapped as she stirred her tea as if it was a bucket of wet cement. Josie, who was feeling a little 'eeekey beekey' herself and is of the opinion that Maggie can be a bit of a hypochondriac, replied, "I think I have ICGAF."
"What's that?" I said.
"I Couldn't Give A F . . ." she started, but I showed her the hand before a row broke out.
"AF is actually Adrenal Fatigue which is a side-effect of living with the stress of the 21st century. I'll have you know that it has been recognised by the WHO," said Maggie. We said nothing, so she continued. "The adrenal glands, which are just above the kidneys, get overworked and, ergo, your cortisol levels drop." You would swear she actually knew what cortisol was.
"So what are your symptoms this time?" sneered Josie, while cracking her fingers. I would have suggested to Josie that she take a few drops of Dr Bach if I thought she wouldn't tell me where to stick it.
"Oh, you know, headaches, tiredness, a bit of light-headedness and a problem digesting my porridge and prunes in the mornings."
"Do you not think this might be more to do with your starvation diet, coupled with the fact that you have been exercising like Bernard Dunne for the last fortnight, rather than any airy fairy syndrome?" I suggested.
"Oh no, my adrenals are definitely swollen. Feel them!" With that she whipped up her jumper and flashed her stomach. We all had a feel but we didn't really know what we were looking for, except for Josie.
"They're not your adrenals," she stated.
"Well, what are they then Mrs Smarty Pants?" demanded Maggie.
"They, my dear, are your fat glands."
The puss on Maggie, after that remark, could have curdled milk.