When My Mind Says Yes But My Stomach...
There are actually a few foods my mind will not accept, but sometimes my stomach doesn't give a damn what my mind thinks. And ultimately it is my stomach that sets the rules, like no cold water or scrambled eggs for breakfast. I am not a finicky creature, I swear it. But if either of those aforementioned elements makes its way down my esophagus within a few hours of my waking up, I get all queasy. Scrambled eggs for lunch, sunny-side up for dinner--great, no problem. But a breakfast omelet--don't go there.
Unfortunately, unlike normal living creatures with survival instincts, I don't know how to stay away from things that make me sick, rather like the foodie equivalent of an alcoholic, I suppose. Admittedly, I am capable of steering clear of cold water. But who can resist eggs in the morning, I ask you? And if you pair eggs with sausages, well, my mind goes into ecstasy and my stomach wants to heave its guts out.
Then there's my tumultuous relationship with dairy: namely yogurt and hot milk. Again, I am fond of both. I like yogurt with sliced fruit in the morning. But there's something ominous about a very big mouthful of thick yogurt and eating anything more than a teaspoon at a time tickles my gag reflexes just so. In addition, I seem to have a need for hot beverages the way others have an oral fixation, and thus hot milk plays a big role in my life, enriching my coffee, tea, and cocoa. Unfortunately, the smell of hot milk makes me sick to my stomach. A little splash, preferably cold milk added to hot drink, and I manage. But every so often, I'll stop at a coffee shop and the word "latte" just spills out all on its own. The next thing I know, I'm clutching a nice big cup just brimming with hot milk, and I'm gulping (I never am able to slowly sip a hot drink; it must be guzzled for maximum tongue damage and scalded-innards sensation), and then everything is rolling, rolling, rolling. And yet, like a deranged beast bloodied by the hunter, I keep charging back for more. Go figure.
A long time ago, I seemed to possess a little more self preservation. At the age of nine, I was taken over by a kind of Rice Krispies Square delirium. I think I'd recently arrived in Canada and was utterly captivated by the novel concept of sugar overload. When the haze eventually cleared, I did not look at another Rice Krispies Square for over ten years. I seem to have lost that...ability to not want to be nauseated. Isn't that a little disturbing?