I never suspected my trouble in acquiring magical powers was due to iodine deficiency.
Stunned and a little upset that I may have just solved a lifelong personal plague with Dr. Google and a hippie website covered in stars and exclamation points, I considered writing a rude email to my actual doctor demanding why this information had been withheld. But as it has been years since I’ve seen my doctor, and I can remember neither my user name nor password to break into my HMO’s computer system, my doctor will have to take cover only from the energetic distaste radiating from the Bamboo Forest.
How was I to know that I was sabotaging myself at every meal? I rarely eat anything spawned from the ocean. Once a year I order lobster at a restaurant; once a year I down shrimp. I can’t stand seaweed, I have an ambivalent relationship with salmon and most other fish, and the lesson I learned from the one mussel I ingested at age 21 was that no second mussel ever needed to follow it. I have seafood with such irregularity that I can tell you every instance in which I have had it. Even when lobster is an option at a restaurant, I hesitate at the cost and because I’m invariably there with Lady Friend who is deathly allergic to the sea. Sure that I am somehow going to cross-contaminate a serving spoon, or that the fish protein will swim through the air from my breath and into her, I worry that the evening will end with revolving lights and sirens and embarrassed explanations to the police about why my dinner companion suddenly exploded at the table. It’s easier to get the steak.
I’ve been following the Iodine thread on and off thinking that all the problems of my body have gone to building my character. And that’s what is important. So I’m not that interested in seeing if iodine will banish my ever-low body temperature or fatigue or dry skin or extra weight or sun sensitivity or sleep problems or short attention span or other issues, or if it will improve the conditions of both my vas deferens and my uterus, as another Google list assures me that it will do. I did not know that I was in possession of both, but apparently I am. My many problems make me strong, and the thought of diminishing them and weakening my character concerns me.
But how can I say no to the chance of becoming psychic? It’s been the dearest wish of my heart since I was four years old to have some measure of magical power, and a random website with stars and exclamation points waves this dream before me. My Iodoral tablets will arrive on Monday, and I will devise a set of magical tests to go along with the physical tests in order to gauge my improvement, if any. Lady Friend will be my impartial examiner and judge.
I believe that we should start with mind reading, in which she holds up a playing card and I guess black or red. This means I need to go into my shed and pull down the box that has a few Beavis and Butthead playing cards inside, which is all I possess. Invisibility will be the second test, because if I can get to my mailbox down the road without any insane dog seeing me and running over to bark or bite, or any insane neighbor seeing me and coming over to yell or throw cat poo, then the iodine is working. My third test I still need to think about. (Anyone who reads fantasy knows that tests come in sets of three.) If you have a suggestion, please write it in.