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Currying favour

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WARNING: Bodily-function episode. Only for the brave…

Last night we ate a take-out curry. In fact there were five of us having take-out at our house.

About two months ago I decided to start being more experimental with take out. I don’t mean eating it with my ass, or standing on my head, or in the middle of a four-lane dual-carriageway or anything like that. Before late November 2008, Chinese takeaway to me always = Sweet & Sour Chicken in Batter with Egg-fried Rice (i.e.: safe meal). Indian always = Chicken Tikka Masala with Pillau Rice (i.e.: safe meal). Then I suddenly decided to be more adventurous. Since then I have had a different and new meal each time. I have only once been disappointed. I’m still careful to pick only things I would actually eat. I wouldn’t order Crispy-fried cat’s anus in a goose-brain sauce, for instance (although I think that’s actually Korean anyway…) But I chose more adventurously.

Then… on Saturday night we went to the cinema to see Yes Man. While I don’t intend to emulate the character entirely, I did recognise some disturbing parallels with the character. In fact, I realised that my becoming more adventurous in ordering is still only the tip of the adventure iceberg. So last night I chose my meal by closing my eyes and pointing to a menu. It worked. Very nice meal (despite the fact it was called ‘Posh Spice’.)

The down-side of the take-out is that I ate all mine. Then, when drunken bum pal next to me fell asleep in a vaguely Carlsberg-scented haze, I helped his brother finish his Chinese off too. Now I usually feel full and slightly faint if I even ALMOST finish off my take-out meal. Last night I ate one and a half meals, plus about 4 poppadums. I felt fine.

Then… about half an hour later, it started to feel like a family of dwarves were mining away inside me, using JCBs. Things kept shifting with disturbing groaning noises that sounded like unsafe beams in a mineshaft.

Rumble.

Grumble.

Rrrroowwrghhharrghhhooar.

FART!!!!!!!!

(even the dogs moved away from me.)

Then the backlash. Heartburn like I’d eaten a bottle of Ammonium chloride. My instant reaction: 2 glasses of milk to settle the acid.

The resulting reaction could probably have been felt in Minsk. The rumbling of the unsafe mine-shaft began once more.

Rumble, grumble, Roowwwwrrragh!

I moved away from the dogs, who were still glaring at me with accusation in their eyes.

So. I figured. Dehydration from spicy meals and several beers. I would need to sleep shortly. But before hand, I would have 3 (yes 3!) glasses of weak juice to replace lost vitamins and rehydrate.

So now, I have eaten one and a half meals, with side dish, drunk two glasses of milk and three of juice (not to mention the several beers before all this began.)

Now we go to bed.

I carry the oil-filled radiator up the stairs two steps at a time, accompanied by noises that would have the staff of an oil-rig running for the lifeboats. These noises are not coming from the radiator. They are coming from me.

I clean my teeth, wash my hands, FART and hermetically seal the bathroom.

I climb into bed and lie on my back, hoping that we don’t have any Japanese or Hippies in the village, as the former would likely harpoon me and the latter would try and roll me back into the sea. I swear I can see stretch-marks on my stomach. It is bigger than I have ever seen it, and so taught the Royal Philharmonic could have used me in the Timpani section.

In fascination, I prodded at the bulge. I was quickly rewarded with a noise like continental draft sped up, a gurgle, a pain like I’d had my colon concreted in, and then a fart that made the bedclothes flap. In some desperation, I rolled onto my side.

I am now so fat that my stomach succumbs to gravity and sags to one side! I have never had this happen. I lie as still as I dare. More rumblings occur.

Then: HEARTBURN!!! This is the fiery-Demon heartburn reserved for those who commit the most heinous sins. It forces me to spend an hour sat bolt upright in the dark and, woe of woes, to drink more water.

I’m not sure how or when I finally got to sleep amid the burning and the sloshing and the groaning and the farting, but when I woke this morning, every time I shifted even slightly the gaseous emissions returned. I must have looked like some kind of unpleasant Disneyland ride.

I don’t know what Mrs M thought this morning when she went into the bathroom. I’d expected the paint to have all run off the walls. I DO know that the dogs spent a lot of this morning looking offended. I still feel HUGE.

It feels like I ate an ice-hockey team.

Or a small Principality.

Has anyone seen Monaco this morning? It IS still there, yes?

Good.

I wonder what’s for lunch?

Moosey

Written by SJAT

January 11, 2011 at 4:05 pm

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