Sure, you read articles all the time on how NOT to retain water and how celebrities cleanse and diarrhetic out the toxins and cholonic out the backed up sewage, but rarely do people tell you how to retain fluids and keep those toxic invaders in and that’s why I’m writing this. to write it the other way is too obvious, too trite, too cliche. This is why I have such a huge following… I know what people really want to know. Because I have this info, my ego is not the only thing that’s bloated.
Here’s how I learned this pertinent bloating information: I was driving and out of nowhere I felt like I was about to pass out. I was luckily in a parking lot and quickly pulled into the nearest spot sideswiping a pedestrian. Sure, I felt some guilt, but I didn’t have time to circle like I usually do and I had to settle for my sub-standard spot.
My mind was racing, “Something is very wrong, people don’t just pass out.” I called my husband on speaker while unlocking my doors, so he or the paramedics could get to me. Even in my nearly unconscious state I was anally over-preparing.
I searched for something to eat. I shoved a lollipop in my mouth… nothing. I was hanging on by a thread, when I saw my daughter’s morning sippy cup of milk. I sucked out the milk as fast as I could (those things have a valve to slow the release of liquid, making this scene almost comedic… if it wasn’t happening to me, that is.) After a rush of boiling heat radiated through my body, the feeling slowly eased. After a meal during, which I was barely lucid for, I told husband I was okay to drive myself to the doctor. This by the way took very little convincing, thanks honey. (He is never anally over-preparing)
Now let me tell you a bit about my Doctor. He is a Jewish Jamaican with a strong accent and the stereotypical laid back attitude you would expect of people who use the word “irie.” I go to him because I am too big of a hypochondriac to go to someone with credentials high strung. When I arrived at the office I found him out back taking a smoke break, he rolls his own, so there’s no telling what it actually was.
He tipped his skull cap at me and I went in to wait for my turn.
“Ello luv, I see you got yer pretty self all worked up. I don’t mean to trow the book at ya, but yer blood pressure is very low… too too low. Yer passin’ out cause yer not getting enough oxygen to yer brain daarlin’.
“That actually explains some other issues.”
“Well, ya got ta take care of dis yerself, cause yer not gonna like the medcine I’d ‘ave to put ya on. Now go to the store and buy everyting wid salt. Get some matzoh ball soup and put extra salt init, put salt on yer salt. Everyting you been taught, ferget it.Rememba ya need tons of fluids, ‘cause ya ‘ave to retain ‘em.”
“What about water?”
“Water? No. That’s terrible fer ya, that just washes the sodium away. I prefer you ‘ave a Coke. Coke jas yer, salt yer caffeine, and yer sugar. It’s the perfect drink fer yer ‘ealth.”
“Yes, I believe that’s their campaign slogan.”
“OK then, I love ya daarlin. ‘Ave a space cake fer the road.”
Did I mention he takes his appointments in a small shack? I’m totally kidding, it’s more of a trailer.
So, if I want to stay awake, I must retain water and eat and drink crap, and if I want to stay thin, I must pass out. Hmmm, well I certainly wouldn’t be the first person who passed out trying to stay thin.
It’s against everyting, sorry everthing, in me to purposely retain fluids. But apparently, this medicine is something I want to avoid, so here goes.
WEEK 1- Filled pantry with pretzels, pistachios, popcorn, pickles, peppercorn jack, and Pepsi. I know, you’re thinking they all have… salt in them, and that’s why I got them.
WEEK 2- Ate and drank all of the above. Wide awake. Feelin’ gooood.
WEEK 3- Still awake. Feeling sluggish. Fingers pruning… Must have sweet, in need of a cupcake. I secretly busted a piñata at my daughter’s friends birthday, and ravaged the innards. I blamed it on a little kid that teases her, who just happened to be the birthday boy. Ahhh, I got my sweets… and my sweet sweet revenge.
WEEK 4- Cannot look at another saltine. Putting MnMs in my soup instead of oyster crackers. Can no longer wear rings. Thighs are becoming too friendly with each other.
Mission accomplished. Do I cry or cheer?
WEEK 5- Too bloated to cook. Can’t get fingers around pan handles. Oven mitts don’t fit. Had husband install salt licks around the house for convenience. Lick them each time I waddle by. Will write more tomorrow, sausage fingers too swollen for keys.
So many freakin' Lemonade stands, but you never see one of these.
My hair, which was never more than baby fine to begin with, started to fall out as soon as I stopped breast feeding. Yes, when everyone else was losing their hair after giving birth, I was mocking them with my luxurious locks and my big engorged boobies. Of course they got theirs – my boobs and locks that is. The tatas deflated and the follicles ran for the hills, well, my drain.
Let’s be honest, we Gen Xers were skilled at playing sick, were we not? Our generation had to work hard for a sick day. Many of our parents worked and would have to take a sick day themselves, and let’s not forget, our parents were raised by hard core parents (our grandparents), who sent them to school no matter what. Hello, their parents were the one’s who walked five miles to get to school, up hill, in snow … so a sniffle or the plague wasn’t gonna cut it.
I – WILL – NEVER – BE – FAMOUS!!!!!!
