I’m ill-equipped to make healthy food choices on a daily basis. This is a fact, I don’t know how to apply responsible daily living to myself.
I’m a smart human being, I just can’t eat well, and exercise AND remember to go to the dentist and doctor and all the other stuff. See the post on Frank and Monica from Shameless being my real parents for a background, heh.
Back to yogurt!
I hate the stuff. Until my wife introduced me to the best yogurt I have EVER EVER EVER tasted….EVER.
It’s liberte lemon yogurt and it has a funny picture of a cow on the front. You might think this is an endorsement for the product and if you work for liberte, send me free yogurt!
But read on, and you will discover, it very much is not free advertising.
This was about 3 years ago as I was dating my wife at the time. Knowing this story, she still agreed to marry me. Will wonders never cease?
I woke up late and decided to grab some random stuff from the fridge and threw it in my bag to take to work.
Contents: one can of pepsi, one unopened container of said yogurt, one spoon.
When lunchtime came, I was crazy hungry and couldn’t get out of the office to supplement my nutritious meal. So I sat at my desk, did some copyediting and lay out work (I was a newspaper editor then) and commensed eating yogurt between pages.
At 2 pm, I realised, I had eaten all 484 millilitres of yogurt. That’s close on 1/2 a liter of yogurt, or for the metric-challenged, somewhere around 1/2 a quart of yogurt.
To go from someone who never eats yogurt, to someone who eats an entire container is the equivalent of gasoline and a lit match for your digestive tract.
I was feeling pretty proud of myself, I didn’t indulge at the candy machine I had my calcium and yogurt’s good for you, right?
Until about 4pm, my bus leaves and my house was about 30 min walk from the bus stop.
No one told me about yogurt’s wonderful laxative properties.
On the ride home, peristalsis was well under way and I felt a little sweaty and full in the tummy.
Over bumps and into the city limits, I thought I was in control.
Oh God, how wrong I was.
At the bus stop, with another 20 minute walk in front of me, I began to feel the urge.
As a long distance runner in high school, I know the perils of running and the bowels. So I could walk slowly and have the urge increase or I could run and be aware of certain disaster. I live in the suburbs of this small town at the time, there’s no gas station, no coffee shop and no convenience store with a bathroom for miles.
So I walk home in a hot sweat getting more and more certain that I’m about to have a major crisis on my hands.
The closer I get, the more certain I am that I am NOT making it home. I fish around in my bag for my keys, try pre-planning the fastest way to get into my house and hurtling my dog to get to the bathroom, I’m praying to Gita and Jesus and Allah and whoever the Zoroastrians worship to at least get me to my own front lawn.
I start planning to crouch in my neighbour’s hedge: it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission, and let’s face it, if I wasn’t getting to my house in time, I wasn’t getting to my neighbour’s door with a formulated script to ask to shit in their hedge.
All the while, I’m thinking, how did I not know? How could this happen? You always think something like this only happens to other people until it happens to you.
There are the stages of loss: shock, grief, anger, bargaining…
…somehow, it was all a blur, through the grace of the tummy gods, I made it. over and over again. Reliving the trauma for the remainder of the evening at shockingly violent intervals.
I was dating my wife at the time, who over the phone heard the fear and shame in my voice.
“You didn’t know that yogurt does that?” she said.
No. No I didn’t.
Dear Liberte, I still love your yogurt. I ain’t mad at ya.