I ate half a small tub of popcorn on Saturday. I went to the movies to see Crimson Peak. Regret. So much regret for so many things. First, I don’t know why I let Chelsea make me believe watching that movie was at all a good idea. Second, I’m allergic to corn. I can eat it in very small amounts and only suffer mild stomach pain in the form of sharp agonizing stabs.
Usually I’m better at monitoring myself. I eat a handful and then I’m done. I tell myself that I’m done. In my heart I want to bury my face in the tub and eat all of it. Okay, let’s be honest. I’m only ever good at monitoring myself when Keri is around. She’s my popcorn sponsor and ration-er. That will never change. But Saturday was super awful. I was out of control. I had a terrible day at work. By the time I got to the movie theater, I was upset and had only eaten half an apple and a cup of coffee. So I bought the popcorn and proceeded to eat it while waiting for Chelsea to show up.
Here’s what happens when you eat half a tub of popcorn when you’re allergic to corn:
You watch the scary movie, freaking out and talking to the screen, making everyone else in the theater hate you. You see Tom Hiddleston’s naked butt, and freak the eff out over the ending of the movie. You may or may not tell your roommate that you hate her while she apologizes for insisting that we go to this movie. You’re too scared to go to the bathroom, so you make your roommate stand watch outside the bathroom so that someone can call the cops if they hear screaming.
But you don’t truly realize that something’s wrong until your stuck in the dregs of traffic from that stupid U of M vs MSU football game. You get that niggling, “eugh, gawd,” feeling in the pit of your stomach that interrupts your thoughts. That slowly turns into, “Oh. Ugh.” Just. Ahhh. “I’m not going to make it to my home.” And then you start heaving, that deep guttural heaving that ends in a gag. You’re kind of terrified because the worst thing that’s ever happened after eating corn was lying curled into a ball of pain on the Helmreich’s kitchen floor. Where’s the short lived pain that you just sleep off? Oh, don’t worry that will come.
For now, you make it home, grunt at your roommate, and then head straight to the bathroom where you continue to cough, heave, spit, and vomit into the toilet. Then, you leave your roommate to watch Pitch Perfect so that she doesn’t have nightmares while you down two Benadryl and pray to God that he spares you. You don’t even hesitate to turn off your alarm and go back to sleep in the morning. You’re a little impressed that you even set your alarm. While you know you hate to miss church, curling up in the pew and chanting that you’re dying is distracting to the other church members. Let’s be honest, you wouldn’t have been able to drive to church anyway. Instead, you sit in the Pink Chair, which has seen you through more illnesses than you can count, and don’t move because moving might incite vomiting, feeling like the utmost heathen.
Still, you’re beautifully hopeful heart thinks that it will end soon. Except, the stomach pain kicks in. You go between choking down bile to trying not to scream. Showering is for the healthy. Although, you do survive the day and make it to work showered and on time on Monday. Sure, you have to physically hold a hand over your mouth in the morning. You also are glad that only the massage therapists are taking clients so that you can wince in pain at the front desk without ten clients walking in and out.
But, hell, you eat Jimmy John’s and keep it down. You also manage to make it to your friend’s apartment so she can tattoo you. That pain puts life into perspective. You almost feel healed even. You don’t even start to panic until Tuesday, roughly three days since “Tom Hiddleston’s Butt Incident.” It should probably be called “The Popcorn Incident” but you’ve actually named another instance in your life that, so this is all you got.
You still feel sick. You still only want to sit on the Pink Chair and not move. Except, you have a blazing headache and the tattoo feels like a second degree sunburn, which, oddly enough, you know all about.
I might never eat popcorn again. That’s a huge statement. I LOVE corn. It’s my favorite vegetable. Honestly. I didn’t know I was allergic to corn until I was fourteen. By then, lines had been drawn. My favorite was my favorite and it won’t change. Except, I never want to feel like this again. The only way I can see to accomplish that is stop eating popcorn. I’m so conflicted. I don’t want that to be the answer. [insert pouting and thrashing about like a three year old.]
Unnnnnph. I just need ALL of the Benadryl and possibly a new stomach right now. Then I’ll be fine..