I am a man of a certain age. I am north of 40 and I once started writing about things that those over 40 should not do … well, it had to be shared I guess.
When trouble arises and things look bad, there is always one individual who perceives a solution and is willing to take command. Very often, that individual is crazy and very often, that same individual is me. Although I will debate with the numerous, highly intelligent voices in my head, that I am not crazy, just a little gifted.
Not that trouble arises a lot in my life. In fact, it may appear to some that trouble finds me and beats me like a red headed stepchild. This is false. I just happen to find my self attracted to pursuits that are usually stupid or dangerous, and these cause trouble.
Thankfully as often as trouble finds me, I manage to avoid it and find something good and helpful to do. And the remainder of the 363 days of my year seem to be filled with an enduring sense of gluttony. I am the man that eats like a pig, drinks like a fish and farts like a New Zealand bush horse.
Apart from the startling realisation that fat blokes shouldn’t ice skate, another life lesson I have leaned in my 40′s is that I will never be thin. I don’t trust thin people because they either don’t drink, don’t eat real food or are just plain miserable. Anybody like me who is sturdily built, big boned and has a pathological fear of going through a day without cheese and bread, understands that one of the things that gluttony bestows upon us is a fat gut and usually a large arse. Alas and alack, my ass is less than ample and I wish sometimes there was a little more junk in my trunk.
This brings me to danger foods and being silly with food. I was in a low rent chain restaurant one night and had already been for a pretty impressive drinking session. This meant that I would have eaten a nuns arse through a cane chair … I was that hungry. And after so much booze, my taste buds had moved out to make way for an eating session that will be with me for the remainder of my life.
Sat at said low rent chain restaurant I had a desire for something with a bite… and so nachos, with Jalapenos, seemed like the idea. But because I couldn’t taste the jalapenos, I demanded more…. and more…. and more. 3 small white ramekins of jalapeno’s had scattered their way on my nachos and I devoured them with an insatiable hunger, completely ill prepared for the effect they would have on my body.
Needless to say the following day was interesting. After completing my morning ablutions, it seemed that I had consumed far more chili than my body could handle, and I found myself not only hung over and dehydrated, but literally, unable to walk. I crawled from the bathroom on my hands and knees, shrieking to any one who could hear, that I was in an agony unknown to human kind. It was as if someone had decided to give me a little collonic irrigation… with battery acid.
For the remainder of the day, I lay in the tropical heat, with a ceiling fan working like a cheap hooker (fast and furious), and an ice filled face cloth wedged between my butt cheeks. I fear in the delusional sweat I was in there was some humming of a Johnny Cash track that may have mentioned some sort of ring of fire.
Gluttony is never good, and when people say to you everything in moderation, it is best to listen to them. It also behooves upon your dining companions to ensure that you never again order any amount of chili, without being fully cognisant of the potential implications to one’s heath and well being.
The life lesson I learned in my 40′s on this day.. I don’t remember but I know it was far more painful than ice skating