Sometimes it is necessary to kill the pain, at least temporarily.
A nagging, jolting pain surfaces at dawn, and continues throughout the day, raising doubts about if it will ever subside.
At 9am, noon and 3pm, swallow an over the counter pain reliever.
Still there, at 5pm.
Drive to the local bar.
Order a glass of ice, a straw and a beer.
4 beers later, order cheesy garlic bread, to take home.
Eat half at the bar.
Pain? What pain?
Geez, that garlic bread is good.
Devour the rest at home.
What a lovely evening.
Suddenly I am an advocate for garlic.
Oh yeah, and have 4 beers.
Pop open one more.
What? only 730pm?
Can someone please extract the rest of my teeth and let me live in a world of gummy bears?
Speaking of gums, mine won’t heal for 3 months, following the water torture that I have endured.
It must be a power thing.
Step on the pedal and water showers over the patient, turning the chicken butt into a wet hen.
In September, I actually agreed to another appointment.
I am a masochist.
Meanwhile, it is Friday night.
I am so terribly blown up with beer and garlic, that when I burp, the smoke alarm erupts.
I decide to do the needful thing and change into my one piece pajama horror, otherwise referred to as a tragic teletubby.
I can’t possibly look in the mirror, not in my condition.
Such a mess I am.
I sneak a peek anyway.
So, the weekend is here.
Let’s enjoy it before we blink and it is gone.
As the Eagles once sang:
So oftentimes it happens that we live our lives in chains
That we never even know we have the key.
And the question remains:
Was it the beer? Or the garlic?
Which came first?
That my friends, is an age old mystery.
I will settle it once and for all.
It was the Chicken Butt.
Screw that egg.