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The Totalitarian Body
At least there's writing.

Awhile back, I received another memo from my body, reminding me about imminent changes:

Alert to middle-aged women:  From now on, all alcoholic beverages are deemed unnecessary and a cause of irritation to the head, spleen, kidney, and digestive tract.  Company policy forbids the ingestion of even one glass (4 oz) of wine, beer, spirits, egg nog, or Nyquil.  Implementiation begins forthwith.

Being kind of a rebel, I tossed the memo in the trash can.  Flipping totalitarian company, I thought.  Damned nuisance to free will.  Pain in the ass, even though the ass was NOT mentioned in the memo.

But I followed the policy for a good long while, seeing others who didn't.  There the poor fools were, in bed with a pounding headache, unable to get out of bed due to the threat of  up-chuck.  Inside, their kidneys and livers were just not happy.  Their doctors were warning them about function levels and health and blood sugar and other such things that I was now free and clear of.

But last night--last night I took my 4 Oz out onto the deck and sat in the spring dusk with my love and drank the forbidden wine.  What joy to sip the liquid the company had kept me from!  What pleasure to sip the elixir created by ancient people's that had now found its way to me.

This morning, however, the company found out.  I heard them knocking on my cranium at about 6.15.  I sat up and then had to fall right back down on the pillow because I had the promised nausea.  The company warned me about my tired system, the problems I was facing at this very moment and I'd tried to be the rebel.

Four hours later, I crawled out of bed.  I phoned in to the company, telling them I was sick.

"We know all about it.  Take Tylenol if you dare," said the company rep.  "But you know what it can do to you."

There was a malignant pause.

"We thought you'd read the memo."

I hung up, stumbled into the bathroom, shook out two tablets, swallowing them.  I looked into the trash can and pulled out the memo, smoothing the creases.

Maybe this time I would pay attention.


2 Comment count
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oh, dear

No fun. No fun at all.

Hope you soon find something that does as much good as wine without the trouble. Sex, perhaps?

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Who knew one could become

Who knew one could become allergic to wine?  Such a strange thing, and yet, I am trying to ignore the facts.  It isn't working.

It's hard to have sex in the same places you can have wine, though not always.  I fear my neighbors might not have liked the sex on the deck thing, while they tolerated the wine better than I did!


Jessica Barksdale Inclan www.jessicabarksdaleinclan.com