It’s T-minus 30 minutes until Iftar and there are too many yummy smells upstairs. Which is why I’m hiding downstairs. My head feels soupy today, soupy in the sense that if you take a bowl of soup and turn it, the bowl goes one direction but the soup will go another. I’m sure you could try it with a cup of tea too. But don’t try it for another half hour, because we’re still fasting.
My lovely Owlie-Bird has been surfing online for useful information related to the Hippoconvention on my face, and we’ve turned up all sorts of interesting cures, including one lady who swears by Vodka. Well yes, a shot of Vodka every time your head hurt would probably take an egde off the pain, but I don’t know about the side-effects.
Another woman swears my rubbing cayenne (that’s red hot chilli peppers for ya folks, the ones that burn, not sing) lotion on her face every three hours. Yet another woman took this advice and applied it (literally) to her backside, and then wrote a scathing letter (yet again, literally!) about how her derrier got burnt.
A man in the US swears by foot-massage, and his wife explains how the little toe is connected to pains in the abdomen. An elderly couple extolls the virtues of quitting sugars, glutens, and processed foods and ‘living as close to nature’ as possible. That reminds me of a joke that one of my students told me. He was from one of those former Russian-Bloc communistans. The joke goes like this.
A bum goes into a Communist Party rally and gets in line thinking he’ll get a hand out. The line moves up and he finds himself at the front, facing a brown-shirted Comrade with a huge ledger and a pen. The Comrade hands the bum the pen.
“Do you swear to give up gambling for The Party!”
The bum looks around nervously and shrugs. Ok, fine.
“Do you swear to give up drinking for The Party!”
The bum’s lower lip quivers and he gives a slight nod.
“Do you swear to give up women for The Party!”
The bum nearly faints. The crowd props him up and somehow he is seen nodding.
The Comrade’s face turns a pssionate shade of purple and he bursts, “Do you swear to give your LIFE for the Communist party!”
The poor man leaps three feet into the air and shouts, YES!!! He grabs the pen and signs his name on the ledger with a flourish. Someone in the crowd elbows him and asks why the sudden enthusiasm. The poor man says, ‘Without gambling, drinking, or women, what’s my life worth anyway?”
So yeah, without sugar, gluten or processed foods, what would my life be worth anyway? he he. Alright, this is the height of randomness. I have to go upstairs and help with the Iftar and try not to drool on things.