You know something’s amiss when I’m blogging at a reasonable hour. The time is 7:52 am and I am doing Taubah (repentance) from mayonnaise. I am also officially boycotting the French Patisserie too, not only because their name is the false advertising of just another Pakistani bakery, but because they gave me food poisoning. gaaaaahhh…
We had friends over for Scrabble and dinner last night, and one of them brought the deceptively innocuous-looking sandwiches from said boycotted bakery. We all et them. Owlie, whose stomach has the fortitude of a stainless-steel drum, said she felt nauseated and went to bed. Me, I said I felt nauseated and then laid in bed contemplating the red ‘toss your cookies here’ bucket for hundreds of hours. Or at least until Fajr, when I stood unsteadily on the rug and prayed for a stronger immune system.
After Fajr I lay down but could not get to sleep. (Nausea: my least favorite feeling in the world) So I wandered upstairs and found my dad, and we had a field trip to the local clinic. They weren’t open yet, so we went and gassed the car up instead. (a logical substitution, of course) Now we’re home again and I’m just waiting for it to be eight o’clock, the random time that my Abbu and I have assumed the clinic will open.
There’s now one minute until eight, and I’m sitting here looking urpy and unhappy. I would kick myself for eating those sandwiches, but my stomach is doing the job for me. I know, I know, various medically oriented Blogistanis will point out that I haven’t gotten the full-blown (or full-thrown?) effects of eating manky mayonnaise, but I’m not waiting for that. Having lived in gastroenteritis-land for several years, I am an expert at diagnosing which stomach aches require a doctor and which do not and anything that involves me throwing up, or severely wanting to, does. This is because I throw up very rarely (probably because I dislike it so much) as evidenced by my 2001 bout with appendicitis. Sitting in the emergency room and being questioned by a Tabib, I was asked, ‘Have you experienced any vomitting?” I shook my head and said no. Then I lost my biryani. The doctor laughed. I’m glad she found it funny.
Ooh, eight o’clock. Let’s call. Rats, no answer. I’m just going to have to assign another arbitrary time to call and try to sleep until then. Remember kids, only you can prevent little mayonnaise sandwiches. The life you save may be your own.