The other day, while reclining atop a hotel room bed, reading a magazine, I was attacked by a rogue pretzel. What, you may be asking yourself, was I doing eating pretzels on a hotel room bed? Well, I was attempting to embrace and enjoy a rare respite from the madness otherwise known as “my life,” that’s what. Happily trying to catch up on two month’s worth of magazines, giddily avoiding my laptop, while shamelessly engaging in a rare caloric activity—namely shoveling empty calories of fun into my normally dietary-rigid mouth.
Perhaps that had something to do with this recalcitrant pretzel’s sneak attack—my rustiness in the simple art of consuming snack foods. You see, I am a total health nut freak (recently I was slightly taken aback by a comment left on one of my posts that described me as a “health nut,” until I sat back and thought about that word and realized, without a doubt, that, hey, I am a health nut! And that’s a good thing). I rarely allow myself the pleasure of consuming snacks (like pretzels or potato chips—a HUGE snacking vice for me, by the way). But on occasion, and this was one of those (being on vacation), I cut myself a break and indulge in some salty treat…and it ended up not biting me in the backside, but stabbing me in the mouth.
Here’s what happened: I was methodically cramming pretzel after pretzel into my seemingly insatiable maw, stick pretzels (my favorites are Snyder’s), you know the kind I mean, when one snapped in half, flipped up on to one end, and impaled itself into the roof of my mouth. Okay, maybe not impaled, but definitely jabbed, gouged, stabbed, shived, bayoneted, knifed, poked—name your bloody word! Because there was blood, lots of blood!
Needless to say, the elation of my pretzel pig-out was immediately and sadly cut short—as if the God of Nutrition had decided that he had seen enough, and reached his hand into my masticating mouth and manipulated a half-chewed pretzel into attention and to use as a weapon, thus putting an end to this empty-caloric nonsense.
Tossing the offending junk food bag into the corner of the hotel room, I hurried to the bathroom sink and rinsed and relieved my mouth of blood and all starchy remnants. I probed and stuffed balls of moistened tissue into my throbbing mouth until, after almost an hour’s battle, the bleeding subsided, leaving me with a very sore palate, and zero desire to indulge in any salty, crunchy foods for the rest of this decade.
This harrowing brush with death (okay, maybe not my death, but at least the death of desire for a pretzel, once one of my few remaining guilty pleasures) left me pondering my lot in life, and reminded me of a similar incident, years ago, that involved our infamous lame duck resident of the White House. You remember, right? While eating pretzels and watching football on TV, good old George W. fainted and fell face first into oval office carpeting. Left with a bruised cheek and ego, he joked about it later, saying, “If my mother is listening, mother, I should have listened to you: Always chew your pretzels before you swallow.”
Wow, me and the Prez. Some may be thinking: it couldn't have happened to two nicer guys…or something along those lines.
Better yet, the lesson I learned from all this is one I have been shouting from the rooftops for years and years, and that is:
JUNK FOOD KILLS!
…or at least attacks and maims.
As always, you can enjoy my variety of humor, music, self-help, how-to, inspirational, and personal development videos at my website, livelife365.com.
Here's a new, very short one that may tickle your funny bone. Enjoy!
Until next time…
peace,
Mike
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