Sometimes I don’t make the smartest of decisions. Take last Friday for example. There I was enjoying a perfectly lovely dinner comprised of two perfectly charbroiled breasts of chicken and one scrumptious baked potato at a fancy restaurant with perfectly dim lighting, when I decided to act perfectly stupid, and shove a brimming spoonful of John’s leftover horse radish sauce into my mouth, and swallow it. (note: there is a GOOD reason horse radish sauce is served in SMALL quantities, and consumed in likewise MINUTE portions.) Why? Because I was dared to. Because, really, sometimes I am not smart. And because, in the shadows cast by the perfectly dim lighting of the fancy restaurant, twenty dollars sure looked a fine trade for the “meager” spoonful of horse radish.

The look I was attempting to procure with my ridiculous horse radish consumption: fearless, impulsive, fun, and of course, iron-stomached. The look I succeeded in rapidly obtaining and sporting for the remainder of the evening: nauseous.

After swallowing the contents of the spoon I spent the next fifteen minutes in the perfectly vacant bathroom of the fancy restaurant with perfectly dim lighting, attempting to make my perfectly stupid self be sick, and, hopefully, thereby alleviate the strong cramping sensation overwhelming my stomach, and the painful burning sensation now taking residence in my throat and nasal cavities. But alas, I have never been able to pay homage to the porcelain king, unless forced by circumstances beyond my control. So, try as I might, the horse radish stayed comfy cozy in my tummy, and I, I stayed clammy pale, burp-ridden and generally ill for hours afterward.

On the up side, I was extremely appreciative that our waitress, after refilling three glasses of water I rapidly guzzled in a desperate attempt to dilute the sauce, didn’t give me a strange look, and in fact, acted as if it was a perfectly normal request when, after she asked if any one of us would like to order from the dessert menu, I fought backthe gurgling in my throat and asked, not for dessert, but for a large piece of plain bread.