I'm afraid to go to the doctor in Japan. If I did, he might bring up the bread crusts. You know, those mammoth slices of bread in Japan with crusts that take forever to chew all the way through? If the doctor looked down my throat, he might see into my stomach and say, "Look at all those bread crusts you haven't chewed!" Then he'd spot all those coffee rings lining my stomach and the corn flakes stuck to the sides.
Whoever decided on the dimensions of Japanese "shokupan" bread anyway? Like America has Keebler elves who make cookies, maybe in Japan they have giants who make bread. Or perhaps it's an affirmative action program to give giants jobs.
To avoid going to the doctor, I just go to the drugstore to find cures. If you have never been inside a Japanese drugstore, I recommend going just for the spectacle. Many are festival-style drugstores with employees wearing traditional "happi" coats and headbands yelling, "Irrashaimase!" Neon pink-and-yellow price tags glow under fluorescent lights, advertising blares over loudspeakers, and goods spill out onto the sidewalk as if the store had just vomited all its contents out onto the pavement. Anyone who walks in healthy will surely leave with a headache and bottle of aspirin.