In the immortal words of Jacobim Mugatu, “TODD! are you not aware that I get farty and bloated with a foamy latte!!”
I had, in past, only ever briefly made a mental connection between certain body functions and the consumption of specific kinds of foods. I had never really connected the dots between feeling a little extra pressure in the belly region and consuming quantities of dairy products. Not until this evening. I had consumed, in a fit reckless abandon and in violation of every one of my new rules for food consumption, an enormous latte… Not just any enormous latte, mind you! My second latte of the day, my favorite latte in the world, the iced caramel macchiato.
I was hanging out with a friend this evening and we stopped by the local coffee place for some refreshing beverages. I had previously allowed myself a very rare “venti” caramel macchiato earlier in the day when I was on the verge of being seriously un-cool at work and needed a little pep. I figured that a second round would not do any harm, as a very rare exception to my generally well-portioned eating habits. I was wrong.
My lovely coffee creation was light on actual coffee and heavy on the whole milk, which I had blithely requested. Just a couple hours later, I found myself doubled over on the floor of my kitchen experiencing some of the most acute gastrointestinal drama I have ever witnessed outside of food poisoning. I very shortly saw my guest out and proceeded to wish that I could just die of embarrassment and end the multiple levels of suffering I was experiencing. After a quick game of connect the dots, an extended trip to the loo, and a quick visit to wikipedia to confirm my findings, I realize that I’m lactose intolerant.
It’s astounding what amazing learning experiences we can have at any age, especially at the expense of any shred of dignity we may have had. And rather than pretend that it didn’t happen and wish that I could silently will this memory into non-existence I have chosen to share it with the universe. Why? Because humor is the best medicine.
It’s always less humiliating when you trip in public and smile and laugh it off, its more easily forgotten and lost in the mundane details of life. Allowing myself the luxury of privately mulling it over and obsessing about the embarrassing details would only serve to further kill whatever sense of dignity I had left. One of the key elements of becoming a classier person is to learn to roll with the punches and take them in stride. Some people may disagree with the strangely public nature of this stride, but I find it oddly therapeutic to get this one out in the open.