Sponsors not needed.

Last night was one for the ages, more so because its conclusion was instrumental in my morning commute to work.

I can’t fall asleep or go out for the evening without first cleaning my kitchen. I don’t think my trait is a necessary psychosis or a preamble to OCD, but I just like a tidy kitchen before all else is considered. So there I am, washing my dishes, using more dishwasher fluid than most parents allow their children to use at one time, when I get a thirst urge.

Normal, right?

I turn around, open my fridge and get a fill of Raspberry Iced Tea from my large spout-pitcher. After satiated, I return to my task of washing around the counter, and inside the microwave.

It is at this moment I catch something pink appear in the corner of my eye. It wasn’t there before, but it’s there now…and growing. Turning, I find a small pool, perhaps 2 feet in diameter, of Raspberry Iced Tea flowing out of my Refrigerator, like a sucrose-free waterfall, and onto the linoleum behind me. Swinging open the door, cursing myself internally, I find the culprit for this sea of pink is none other that my spout-pitcher–or myself, whichever works in this situation.

It seems that in my rush to get back to my chores, I neglected to place the pitcher a little ways back onto the shelf. In not doing so, I left the soft, spongy spout button at the mercy of the shelf attached to the inside of the heavy-handed refrigerator door. Resulting in, obviously, the door pressing up against the pitcher button and viola..sea of pink.

I quickly dive into the task of removing every sodden foodstuff or container off of each shelf, placing them inside the kitchen sink or on my counter when available space proves..unavailable. I toss three pieces of uneaten pizza onto the second uncleaned counter-top when I part of the ways through gutting my fridge of it’s contents–in a race to cleaning and back to my game.

After a thorough mopping, cleaning, and drying, I returned all salvageable items back inside the fridge and retired to bed.

Fast forward to this morning’s drive–this occurring right after my 4.3 mile run.

What disappoints, if not frustrates me greatly with my commutes, is the fact that this region of the Massachusetts fails to maintain a strong radio signal–impairing both my ability to enjoy an excellent program or my drive. This aside, as I embargo my patience between flipping back and forth between weak and “on-life-support” radio signals, an odd feeling tickles the base of my throat.

I’ve felt this before. Right?

I swish down some water, presuming the cause to be mere dehydration, a cough. But, this only agitates the sensation. I knew what was happening, even as I scratch my brain on how this could even be; even as my instincts take me off the highway and into a rest-stop between Belchertown and Ludlow. The moment I throw my car into park, expunge my key and open the door in a “call to alarm” pace, I know what’s going to happen next.

I throw up all over the newly paved McDonald’s parking lot.
“Away with you water.”
“Away with you protein shake.”
“Away with you brown, chalk-tasting multi-vitamin pill.”
“Away with you breakfast consisting of three pizza slices.”
Hell, “away with you dignity, in a retching display no doubt.”

Recovering, reposed in my driver’s seat, I peer down at myself to make sure I didn’t get anything on me( because, really..that’s what it’s about: you don’t care where you vomit,so aslong as you don’t get it on YOU). It then hits me; even as I start my car and continue into Springfield, the humming of my engine allowing my brain to replay the meaty contents jettisoning from my mouth, that I was the cause of all of this–and not some magical bug.

The Pizza.

Before I washed my dishes last night, before I decided to get up to make dinner, I sprinkled some organic insect powder around the edges of my counter. I took care to make sure the powder was safe around food, small animals( I don’t have any, save the damn ants), and treatable if ingested or gotten in the eyes). I made a note to wipe up any excess afterwards, but remember now that the Texas/TCU College Softball was just too distracting. So it seems my carelessness gave me a bout of stomach poisoning–in small doses of course.

Damn Ants, their method of revenge is so timely..


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