Do not attempt
To politely, moronically
Eat your way
Through a giant plate
Of lasagna
Washed down with great glugs of Cava
Following a three-year hiatus
For health reasons.
Do not attempt
To consider eating said
Giant plate of lasagna,
Along with other unsuitable delectables,
Such as German chocolate delicacies
And OMG LINDOR BALLS!!!!
As a perfectly innocuous undertaking
Simply because you are ingesting potent medication
To counteract the effects of your incurable disease.
Do not attempt to push through
This utterly preposterous
Moment of Yikes!
Simply because you had told the hostess,
In a gleeful, exuberant moment
Of your newfound joie de vivre,
That your food allergies
Are no longer an issue.
Because even if most of them are, in fact,
No longer the absolute, unequivocal no-no’s
They were two months ago,
Be assured that you will inevitably come face to fork
With the culinary equivalent of
The perfect intestinal storm.
Do not attempt to poo-poo this perfect intestinal storm,
Unless, like me, you are an idiot.
Because, last night,
Yours truly threw common sense
To the Windy Miller
And gobble-giggle-scoffed her dumbass way
Through every single stage of all-of-the-above
With her zest-for-life/tralala/watch-me-pop-another-Lindor-Ball typical abandon,
Only yanking the hand brake
When she suddenly had to express a warning shot of
OMG PUKE!!!
Into her napkin and then dispose of it
With all the discretion the delightful evening called for
And that the charming hostess deserved.
Do not attempt this
Unless you are prepared
To endure a restless, musical, hallucinogenic night,
And to waste a perfectly lovely following day
To the barracuda-bazooka-wakaboom effects
Of a gluten and lactose overdose.
Yours truly,
Catatonic in Catalunya
