Three forces in my life, some of them self-generated, recently coalesced in what I can only consider as an attempt on my life.
1) I have started eating jalapenos as a snack because they are so hot I can only eat one small slice every few minutes. This satisfies my desire to continue stuffing my face, while not allowing me to eat myself into oblivion. Usually I can polish of 10 or 15 jalapenos in an hour, and by the end of that hour my mouth is so scorched, or my appetite is sated enough, or a combination of both, that I can put the peppers down and not worry about eating anything else.
2) I eat a high-fiber cereal every morning. It fills me up, carries me until lunch, and as an added benefit, it keeps me regular. It’s not the cheapest cereal in the world (in fact, it’s pretty expensive at about $3.50 per 13oz box; I could eat knock-off Cheerios for about 33 cents per metric ass-ton, but it just doesn’t have enough fiber) but it has the daily protein, vitamin, and fiber levels that I’m looking for. It looks like bird feed and tastes like an old deck, but, like I said, the fiber.
3) I’m usually the first person into my office in the morning, so I usually get the first appointments of the day. Most of the time this isn’t a problem as we don’t really have appointments early in the day, but every now and then we do, and when we do, I handle them because I’m the only one around. Coincidentally, my high fiber cereal usually hits me about 30 minutes after I’ve gotten in to work.
So, with those three factors in mind, I present the following anecdote:
As I sit across the desk from the early morning appointment I suddenly feel a… trembling in my gut. “Hmm,” I think to myself, “This probably isn’t going to end well.” As my appointment asks question after question it becomes abundantly clear that this will indeed end very poorly. Without getting too graphic, I’ll just say that hull breach was imminent.*
Luckily, as I was calculating in my head how long it would take me to go home and get new pants and get back in time for my next appointment, as well as trying to think up an excuse as to why I had to leave other than, “I pooped my pants,” my appointment finally left. I ran to the bathroom. Literally. Full-stride, arms pumping, tie-over-my-shoulder ran. And what I thought would be a feeling of relief was replaced instead with the horrible sensation of anally birthing a Nerf-football covered with razorblades that has been soaked in rubbing alcohol. I was sweating. Tears were running down my cheeks. The smell was disintegrating my face. Then it was over.
As I sit here typing my palms are clammy, my skin is damp and cold, and I can physically feel a void in my mid-section.
Lesson learned: don’t schedule any more early morning appointments.
*There was a turtle-head poking out.
The brown bear was coming out of his cave.
I was prairie-dogging it.
I was poking cotton.
The torpedoes were armed.
The Tootsie Roll factory was in production.
Mr. Hanky was early for Christmas.
Logs were coming out of the lumber mill.
I was learning what Brown could do for me.
The space shuttle was leaving orbit.
The dog was jumping out of the bathtub.
Old Faithful was ready to erupt.
It was moments before a California mudslide.
I really had to take a Frank Stallone.
Mighty Count Chocula was about to emerge from his slumber.
I was going to start a new band entitled Shitpile! in my Pants.
My body prepared to do an emergency core ejection.
I was about to Jackson Pollack the back of my slacks.
