In Which Much Ado Is Had About Soup
The bad news about this bit of nowhere: it involves more sad and macabre details about bodily orifices (but happily they're all still above the equator, so to speak). The good news is that hopefully, as of tomorrow, it will be the last I must suffer this rather unpleasant indignity. So far, every other year I seem to get some tragedy involving my mouth and my subsequent inability to consume virtually anything. (And no, it's not because I've got my foot thoroughly lodged up there.)
Makes me eager for 2010....
But things are healing nicely, albeit slowly. Once again, the less I talk the better off I am, but naturally my retail vocation enjoys slapping me across the face for such whimsical notions. As of this evening, the wound/sore/"are you sure it's not infected?" has been reduced to a piffly size, and I barely register anything beyond mild discomfort if food or drink passes over it. The roof of my mouth has also healed over to the same results. It's just the insides of the corner of my mouth that are still, shall we say "twitchy", and I think it may yet be another day or two before I can go hog wild at a buffet table without fear of terrible pain as food passes down my gullet.
Hey, be nice. I can see you rolling your eyes there. It's been a week and a half since I've been able to eat...well, anything. The last 5-7 days I've been living off soup broth through a straw. And chocolate milk. Oh God, the chocolate milk! I am ever so grateful the grocery store had it on sale; I've downed close to 8 litres of it since Saturday. (Mel forbade me from having the last bag, since she's had...I think a small glass of it herself.)
But in all honest,y I needed that chocolate milk. And not just for the tastiness. No, in truth it helped coat the stomach and kept hunger at bay. Which worked out great, since in the last few days as my mouth as gotten better, my appetite's started to return with a vengeance.
You have to understand the tragedy of all this: this past Sunday evening, the store had it's belated
We Survived Commercialmas party at the Mongolian Grill. There were six of us in attendance, and I did not, could not eat a single thing. Sure, it saved on the bill, but everyone kept mentioning how guilty they felt eating in front of me. And yet here's the scary part: at the time, my ailment was still pronounced enough that my appetite was shot dead before it could even try to breathe. I was actually able to stare at any given plate of heaping food and not feel a pang of hunger--or even a stab of jealousy over wanting to eat it myself.
Some of you who know how monstrous my appetite is are no doubt cringing in fear at this mind-boggling image.
But yes, soup is being had now. Tonight I dined of chicken noodle soup--a definite step up from chicken-flavoured broth. What will tomorrow bring? Hopefully the ability to eat a sammich. And after that...oooh, baby, I've got to make up for lost time.
So tune in next time, when you'll probably be able to hear our ignominious blogger say: "I swear, Mel, the rabbit must have escaped out of her cage in the middle of the night, opened the fridge and guzzled down that last bag of chocolate milk. Honest!"
Today's Lesson: the opening animation to
Katamari Damacy still makes no sense, no matter how many times I watch it. (But damned if the King of All Cosmos isn't fabulous for it!)
Labels: desperately seeking sammiches, return of the mouth of pain
posted by Phillip at 7:53 PM
