I have monsoon cravings when I ovulate. So even if I didn't plump up like a stuffed Thankgiving turkey, I would still know it was TIME.
So this particular evening, hard boiled eggs were the must eat item. "MUST EAT EGGS" the ovaries screamed. And so I obliged.
Obliged to the tune of 10 or 11 eggs. Four or five eggs plain (no yolks) and then all the remaining eggs on two slices of bread as a mayo-y, mustardy, pickle laced, egg salad sandwich. Apparently the giant sandwich wasn't quite perfect - it needed something... say... two whole cloves of raw garlic? Yes. You read correct.
My only defense for this gross gastro misdemeanor is that it sounded great at the time.
I am sure the consequences of this culinary lapse in judgement would be completely predictable to anyone in their right mind, so I will be brief in my description of the HORRIBLE pain I was in for hours that night. I won't go into too much detail about the garlic egg burps that were happening with each breath. Painful, terrible memories...
With tears dripping down the corners of my eyes, and a mouth full of Starburst to distract me from the thought of egg, I closed my eyes and prayed for morning.
H's biggest concern over the egg debacle: His irresponsible wife was eating candy in bed AFTER brushing her teeth.
I guess the Lord heard my prayer for life and H's prayer for my dental welfare. Both were in tact come morning. Hallelujah.