According to the website, “The Darwin Awards salute the improvement of the human genome by honoring those who accidentally remove themselves from it…” and, I’m blogging, so I clearly haven’t done that. But I did do something fairly ridiculous that makes me question my own intelligence.
A little background: Until now, I’ve never had any real food allergy/bad reaction (except for a couple times with shellfish and alcohol, but that’s a different story for a different time). And I’ve always always had a bit LOT of a sweet tooth.
Bad/stressful day? Pass me a Snickers bar, please.
Celebrating? Of course, I’ll have some chocolate cake.
And this was all well and good up until this past weekend.
Without going into too much unnecessary detail, I started feeling ill after a Saturday brunch of chocolate chip pancakes, and proceeded to throw up throughout the course of the day, several times, in two separate parks. (And one playground. Sorry, kids.) A quick study of some recent stomachaches compared to the food I’d eaten previous to the pain showed chocolate to be the culprit.
I was, understandably, bummed.
Which is probably why, when my mom suggested that maybe it was milk chocolate that was bad, and I’d be okay with dark chocolate, I wanted her to be right so badly that I tested the theory.
Oh, and did I mention I tested it at work? I’ll take that award, now.
I was craving chocolate like whoa, so I got a box of dark chocolate raisinets. Delicious, right? Wrong.
Especially not when they come back up…four times in two hours. And not when you have to email the office manager to tell him that you threw up, and could someone come clean that stall? And not when you get home, start to sip your ginger ale and realize that that doesn’t want to stay down either, because chocolate has screwed your system but good for the day. And definitely not now, when even your home bathroom smells like vomit.
All because I just had to know if I could have some kind of chocolate.
My new nemesis *shakes fist*
When I told my boyfriend, who was with me for the pancake fiasco, about the experiment (and its consequences) he responded, “Ok, it’s chocolate. Or some key ingredient in chocolate. Sucks to be you.” (To his credit, he did not say, “I told you so,” or call me an idiot, though I know he was/is dying to. And he also checked in to see if I needed anything, when I was home, curled up in the fetal position.)
When I told my mom, she said, “Maybe you’re part dog. You know, this is why they can’t have chocolate – it wreaks havoc on their system.“
So, I’m either a dog or an idiot – or both. And either way I’m not getting any Easter candy this year.
Thanks a lot, body. You win again.
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