My wife and I don’t get to visit
too many restaurants these days (which is good for our wallets as well as our
waistlines), but once in a while, someone will volunteer to watch Chloe and
give us a night to ourselves. We’ve only had a handful of nights out since late
August of 2011, so when we get a chance to party it up, we do it well. We’ll
both order an adult beverage and maybe share a dessert. We’ll take a walk and
just enjoy some alone time without worrying about binkies, diapers and puréed peas.
We had such a night on Saturday,
May 19. After seeing the Blue Man Group, we drove out to the Robinson area for
a feast at Bahama Breeze, one of our favorite places. Now, if you’re
anticipating a negative review here, I am sorry to disappoint you. In fact, the
food was great… maybe even too great. I just wanted to eat and drink all that I
could. Perhaps it was my body saying, “Dude, seriously, how often does this
happen? Live it up! Eat! Drink! Cram all you can into this dinner!”
And so I listened to my inner glutton
and stuffed my face with whatever was in front of me (including some of my wife’s
dinner). I had a few plantains smothered with chicken, cheese and peppers. I
downed two Blue Moons (the big ones). I shoved what seemed like pounds of
bowtie pasta and salmon and bread and more fish and key lime pie into my face.
About halfway through it all, my stomach had expanded so far that my belt began
digging into my gut and limiting my intake. But when there’s no belt, there’s
no problem (if you know what I mean).
But even with the belt gone, I was
in trouble. It soon occurred to me that my body was no longer accustomed to
restaurant food and so the oils and sauces from my meal were creating a sort of
poison that overtook my body.
When it came time to leave, I
told Laura that I would meet her outside. I had to freshen up. So I went to the
restroom, looked in the mirror and saw my Dad: a tired, waddling man with a fat gut. “Who am
I?” I wondered.
I left the bathroom and then the
restaurant. And that’s when it hit me. The heat was so intense that the oils
and sauces inside of me started to boil. And on top of it all, Laura was
pulling up to the curb and it was time to take a car ride.
“I don’t feel so good.” I told
her.
“You shouldn’t have eaten so
much.”
“Uhhh.”
“You have to put on your seatbelt.”
We drove maybe 100 feet.
“I don’t know if I can do this,”
I said.
“Want to go on the roller
coaster?” she asked. (She is mean.)
“No. Don’t do it, Laura.”
We were on our way to meet her
family who happened to also be in Robinson, but about five shopping plazas away.
I really felt like I was going to puke. My breathing turned into subtle wheezing
as I attempted a whole “mind over matter” thing. Once we reached the other side
of Robinson, I told Laura to stop the car because I just couldn’t take it
anymore.
“I just can’t stop in the middle
of the road,” she said.
“We’re in a parking lot. Just
park the car!”
“Where?”
“In one of the 200 empty spaces
surrounding us!”
Finally, she parked the car and I
grabbed my phone and got out. She drove off in search of her family while I
took the nearest seat – a curb along a parking island in the sun (not at all
related to Weezer). But, of course, the sun was intensifying the bubbling
sauces churning within my stomach. I noticed more shade on the other side of
the curb, but to walk around the island would surely do me in. So I simply
walked through the bushes that made up the perimeter of the island.
Turned out there was an oasis in
the middle of the parking island complete with two benches, some garbage cans
and a ground full of mulch… it was truly a parking lot paradise. I took a seat
on the nearest bench and tried to just calm down and gather myself. I didn’t
want to puke in the mulch, but the smell wafting over from Five Guys took the situation
into the red zone.
I had just about enough of the general
discomfort, so I turned to my left and yakked up some dinner right there on the
mulch. I didn’t even have the decency to waddle over to the trash can.
This experience was significant
for two reasons:
1) I hit a new low. This was the
first time I ever threw up from overeating.
2) I just can’t party like I used
to.
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