So the other day a friend of mine gave me a ziploc bag with some powder in it. WHAT!? NO, NOT THAT! Jeez, people. She told me I was to throw it in an 8oz glass of water and it would help give me some energy for my workout that morning. (actually, that sounds a lot like that … )
I NEED to lose these 10 pounds! I can’t take it anymore!! I am desperate. I attempted bathing suit shopping last weekend and not only went through the 5 stages of grief, but sent out an SOS text to my friends and family before my self esteem sank into the abyss never to be seen again. Thank god they are accommodating or I’d still be in that dressing room, naked and sobbing … probably eating a bag of Doritos.
I chug the powdered drink tasting eerily like Kool Aid and throw the kids in the car to take them to school.
The A/C is blowing on my face in my brand new minivan, but it feels like a sandstorm. Prickly doesn’t begin to describe it. I’m pretty sure it’s on the “Sand Blast” setting when I remember that Honda doesn’t provide that in their minivans.
What’s going on with me? I’m now touching my face and wondering why I feel so funny. Then the tops of my hands start to feel the same way. WTF is happening to me??? I drop the kids at school before I go into a full blown panic and start randomly screaming while staring at myself in my rearview mirror.
I’m starting to feel my throat close up but I’m pretty sure I’m making this up. CALM THE FUCK DOWN – I’m shrieking in my mind. I’m already envisioning myself in the ER for the day being pumped full of Benedryl and having them ask me for the 10th time – “what did you take?” (whispering “idiot” under their breaths) Speaking of which …
Me: I think I’m having an allergic reaction
Hubs: To what?
Me: To some powder T gave me.
Hubs: I’m sorry, WHAT?
Me: It was some sort of pre-workout powder – supposed to give me energy.
Hubs: What’s it called?
Me: I don’t know
Hubs: What’s in it?
Me: I don’t know
Me: I’m sorry! I know. I should have gotten more information.
Me: You know I’m desperate! I’ve been so tired lately and I can’t get the energy to workout!!
Me: I’m sorry I’m not perfect like you!!!!!! (I always bring his supposed “perfection” up out of a desperate attempt to explain my ludicrous, frequently irrational, behavior. He is so over it.)
Me: Society has ruined women!! RUINED US!!! WE ARE ALL FUCKED UP!!!
Me: Do you think I should take Benedryl?
Hubs: I have no idea.
At this point I was in the parking lot of a Quest lab where I needed to drop off one of my kids’ stool samples. What? I didn’t tell you that? Oh, yeah. I feel like I’ve been dropping off stool samples weekly lately. The lady at the front desk may or may not say, “Your weekly bag of shit? Leave it right over there.”
I’ve convinced myself that I’m going to fall going into the lab and the crap, literally, is going to fly everywhere. I’m visualizing guys in hazmat suits scrubbing the lab and shaking their heads, wondering why in THE hell they went to college for this.
Drop off, miraculously, goes fine. I head back to the car and sit. I don’t do sitting alone with my thoughts (and my imminent death) well.
I finally give in and make a frantic call to my friend who is a nurse (I’m pretty sure on a daily basis she regrets telling me her profession). She gives me the kinder version of the Hubs conversation and, as we’re talking, the symptoms start to go away.
I seriously want to go back in time and bitch slap myself. There is no shortcut. This was my lesson. Or maybe my lesson is that I should accept myself the way I am. Or, it could be, anything that tastes like Kool Aid can, and potentially will, kill you. Actually, I think the moral of the story is it’s ok to drop off a stool sample after chugging an energy drink? You probably don’t have to go to college if you want to wear a hazmat suit?? I don’t know. All I know is that I’m not getting in a bathing suit this summer. Period, amen. The last thing I need to hear is this …
P.S. FYI, my friend bought the stuff at Costco, not some back alley drug cartel. And the reaction I had, according to the manufacturers website, – completely normal. This story is merely the rantings of a lunatic with an overactive imagination having too much time on her hands. As you were.