Everybody knows that “food poisoning” is a euphemism for "hangover." It’s like when the newspapers reported that San Francisco Giants pitcher Tim Lincecum was unable to appear at the team’s World Series victory parade due to “flu-like symptoms.” It’s not surprising that if you take a bath in champagne while simultaneously swilling it straight from the bottle that you’ll wake up the next morning feeling a little sick; whether you call it “flu-like symptoms” or “food poisoning,” we know what you mean.
So, naturally, I felt a little suspect begging off of a meeting at school yesterday due to “food poisoning,” but, believe it or not, I really was suffering from the effects of something I ate, not some things I drank.
It’s strange when consuming what is intended to nourish you ends up doing the opposite. Soon after my Monday evening meal of tomatoes, bread, cheese, and pickles, I was kneeling over the toilet giving back the contents of my dinner to the porcelain god. I was up pretty much the entire night disposing of the contents of my belly in both directions and spent all day Tuesday going from one reclined position to the next, weak as a kitten, as they say, but with none of that furry creature’s requisite cuteness.
I’m wondering about the evolutionary provenance of listeria or whatever else it was that gave me such distress. If I were some bacteria that wanted to pass on its DNA efficiently, you’d think I’d be adapted to make my host feel well, not awful. Wouldn’t it make more sense of “food poisoning” gave a person extra energy and a fuller head of hair? If that were the case, it seems like people would much more consistently eat spoiled cheese or, as in my case, tomatoes that were over the edge.
But perhaps this is already what happens; purged as I was, I did, after all, have an excellent yoga practice this morning, so there.
So, naturally, I felt a little suspect begging off of a meeting at school yesterday due to “food poisoning,” but, believe it or not, I really was suffering from the effects of something I ate, not some things I drank.
It’s strange when consuming what is intended to nourish you ends up doing the opposite. Soon after my Monday evening meal of tomatoes, bread, cheese, and pickles, I was kneeling over the toilet giving back the contents of my dinner to the porcelain god. I was up pretty much the entire night disposing of the contents of my belly in both directions and spent all day Tuesday going from one reclined position to the next, weak as a kitten, as they say, but with none of that furry creature’s requisite cuteness.
I’m wondering about the evolutionary provenance of listeria or whatever else it was that gave me such distress. If I were some bacteria that wanted to pass on its DNA efficiently, you’d think I’d be adapted to make my host feel well, not awful. Wouldn’t it make more sense of “food poisoning” gave a person extra energy and a fuller head of hair? If that were the case, it seems like people would much more consistently eat spoiled cheese or, as in my case, tomatoes that were over the edge.
But perhaps this is already what happens; purged as I was, I did, after all, have an excellent yoga practice this morning, so there.
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