When the plane was bouncing around in the storm, reaching for the barf bag was the least of my worries. Instead, I was trying to not mortify the pretty teenager seated next to me – who had either just popped her cherry, or been called “sexy” for the first time because she was desperately trying to make me notice her sensuality. The miracle, in fact, is not that Mount Vesuanus wasn’t erupting all over passengers, but rather that I made the flight in the first place.
Let me recap: I was on a press event in Joburg on Saturday and catering wasn’t under my control. So after ruining the interactive wrap breakfast by simply having the filling ingredients on a plate, sans wrap, lunch came around. After leaving a trail of perfectly toasted crostini in the wake of my exclusive diet, the “larger” meals arrived. If you’ve ever seen a fat dude poking his chopsticks around to fish chicken out of a sea of egg-noodle, I needn’t tell you how funny it looks.
Moral of the story? After the Chinese dish came prawn linguini, and I ate all the prawns. The prawns were made in cream. It was a richness mouthgasm of earth-moving capacity. Dopamine flooded my brain and I was floating on a cloud.
Fast-forward to 24-hours later and I’m stuck on a porcelain throne at my dad’s place, with a severe leak in the backyard (if you know what I mean). And while it could be the dodgy ribs I had the night before, or the speculative freshness of the accompanying prawns, the only thing I could think to blame my condition on was the dairy grenades.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve never had a history of lactose intolerance, but if the Whole30 has reduced my bowels to such a poor state, someone has some explaining to do.
You see, I believe that I’m descendent of the original people of this region, mixed with a little European and Asian flavour. I also believe that coeliac disease, lactose intolerance and other such digestive tract oddities are conditions found chiefly among the immigrants. My people have been living off of fermented and processed grains and dairy for eons, and regard my generally resolute constitution as a source of pride – a gift from my ancestors, if you will.
So for my sins (read: because I defied the ancestors by buying into the diet of the oppressor) I had to punish a little hybrid car and break numerous traffic laws in order to make my flight back to Cape Town. And that brings us back to me, seated next to a pretty girl, trying not to shit on her.
I will, however, push on until these 30 days are complete (adding on an extra week for my missteps), because I’m a rebel like that.