I reached an age where every health article begins with the same energy as a concerned accountant reviewing my finances. They're no longer asking whether I'm healthy. They're asking whether I've considered that my skeleton is quietly liquidating assets behind my back. The latest lecture informed me that I should aim for twenty-five grams of protein at every meal because, apparently, my muscles have entered the workforce equivalent of "quiet quitting." It's amazing how casually this information is delivered. One day you're eating toast because you enjoy toast. The next day a nutrition expert politely explains that your body looked at that slice of bread and responded, "That's adorable. Unfortunately, we're trying to prevent your legs from becoming decorative." Nobody warned me that aging would turn food into mathematics. Breakfast used to be whatever fit inside a toaster. Now it's an engineering problem. Greek yogurt contains twent...