Callum is telling me about his work schedule for the coming week.
“I only have a short day on Monday because of the public holiday.”
“Public holiday? What are we celebrating?”
“The Queen’s birthday.”
“It doesn’t seem that long ago since the last Queen’s birthday holiday. Do you remember? The girls insisted on making a cake to celebrate. But that morning, I discovered I’d gained 2 kilos in weight. I needed a good excuse not to eat any of that absolutely delicious looking cream sponge birthday cake with strawberries… so I decided to become a republican.”
“Yes, everyone knows a republican would never celebrate the Queen’s birthday. A republican would refuse to eat even one crumb of a Queen’s birthday cake," I explain. Then I add, "I wrote about it in the blog post, "Why I'm Not Celebrating the Queen's Birthday."
“Why don’t you write another Queen’s birthday story,” suggests Callum. “You can tell everyone how you lost that extra two kilos.”
A sheepish look appears on my face. “Well, actually… I never did lose that two kilos. I started exercising and somehow I gained weight.”
“Muscle!” Callum consoles me. “Muscle weighs more than fat. You’ve become more muscular.”
I like this explanation. I like it very much. It means I no longer have to be a republican. I can be a royalist instead.
A royalist? Well, I don’t actually spend much time thinking of the Queen and following the latest news of her extended family… but I do like cake. And I know two girls who are planning to make another delicious ooey-gooey Queen’s birthday cake to celebrate the public holiday. This year I want to eat a huge slice. And if that means becoming a royalist, I am willing to become one.
I am thinking about all the muscles I have gained since I became a runner. A sheepish look appears once again on my face. I remember a fat legged mother story. Shall I tell it to you? Maybe next time…