Ralph rolled his eyes every time he thought about the doctor's recommendations for dealing with his damned angry bowels. Eat right, exercise, drink more water, cut down on the coffee, and stop smoking. Ralph shook his head. Oh, and try to limit the stress. Why didn't he just lay down and die? That would be more fun and way easier. Ralph was a general contractor for high end homes and small resorts in the Jackson Hole area. That meant he spent tons of time in his truck and at construction sites. He was already spending over an hour a day in porta potties, and he had started worrying about things enough to carry his own rolls of toilet paper everywhere he went. Coffee, cigarettes, soda, and those damn Little Debbie's were all that got him through the day. What was he supposed to do? Jumping jacks on site? He'd at least been clutching his cheeks enough that he figured that counted as exercise to a certain extent. It was only July, and he had to hustle all the way through November, but he didn't know how he was going to survive another bumpy gravel road.