It is Day 4 of my ordeal, trapped in my house without Food, and only minimal Water. I am not sure I can go on much longer and remain sane. I have been suffering from raging mouth sores following a stupid Boxing Day Hot Wing Challenge, which keeps me from ingesting anything more stimulating than Water.
I still cannot manage to eat solid food, due to the mouth sores I suffered – more or less at my own hand – the day after Christmas at a ‘No Turkey Allowed’ theme party. It was meant to be a prank, foist upon me by a so-called friend who said I should take part in a Hot Wings Contest. I said I’d rather die than risk damage to my sensitive and educated pallet.
“Just try the entry-level ones,” he appealed to my charitable side. I agreed. What harm could come? Like a fool, I trusted him…
The bastard actually gave me level-five Ghost Pepper and Habañero Wings! He thought it would be funny. He hasn’t tried to contact me since, nor have I made any effort to contact him. He owes me a huge apology. And, when it comes, It had better not be one of those Donald Trump ‘blame on all sides’ things.
My real pain and sorrow…
..Is that this is the week between Christmas and New Years, the worst possible week of the year for a food lover to be restrained from eating!
I gaze longingly into the Kitchen fridge, with its tantalizing array of Turkey, Dressing and Baked Squash leftovers. I Sigh. I cannot even bear to touch the fringe of the plastic wrap that covers the platters. So near, but, yet, so far. Downstairs, in one of the catering fridges, I am assailed by the sight of Apple and Pumpkin Pies, hardly dented, Braised Brussels Sprouts, just begging to be microwaved and inhaled… And the Fruit Cake. Taunting me every time I venture into the cold room, wafting almost indecent aromas of Molasses, Spices and Rum in my direction whenever I risk a peek.
I dare not take even a small glass of Brandy or even Creme Sherry. The alcohol burns like a hot poker! Likewise, I cannot bear to swoosh my mouth with any decent, effective antibacterial mouthwash, because of the alcohol. Even White Wine is out of the question. I am hoping – against hope – that I will be able to choke down a few cups of Egg Nogg by New Year’s Eve, and Partake of even a bite or two of the New Year’s Day Feast – even if I have to run it through a blender.
If you find this journal after I am gone…
know that I tried my best to survive all the privations and meet the challenges and ill fortunes that life and idiot friends could throw at me. But, in the end, I succumbed. And I did it all for you, my faithful readers. Pray for me if you are the religious sort. Or, eat and drink ’til you burst, if you’re more my sort.
~ Maggie J.