I have a nubile sister-in-law-once-removed (“co-sister” in Indian parlance) who looks up starry eyed to me as a role model daughter-in-law (eye roll), and tries to impress me (double eye roll) every time I visit her. She believes that making international food (pizza, pasta, bean burrito et al) at home amounts to being a paragon, and tries to emulate me (my eye is going to get stuck that way), little realising that her role model is a faltering, self-bashing, inefficient, imperfect, unbaked-clay footed human being, despite the gazillion times I have tried to impress it upon her. Unfortunately, her attempts to impress me are usually catastrophic, and she ends up feeling worse about herself than before, despite me repeatedly telling her that all I want to be is her friend. Having a fifteen year age difference between us does not help any.
Last Sunday, I visited her and she decided to impress me yet again by making French fries. What was brought to me on a plate was a bunch of limp French cut potatoes soaked in oil. SOAKED. Not wanting to get her into her self-bashing, I-am-not-as-good-as-Gobblefunkist- mode (God, my eye sockets hurt), I entrusted my liver to the supernatural and swallowed a few of the blasted stuff.
Within five minutes, I could feel my innards shutting down. I attributed it to psychosomatic effects of the sight of potatoes floating in oil, ignored the queasiness that continued well into the day and went about doing my stuff. Monday was uneasy, but nothing I couldn’t handle. On Tuesday, an invisible hand was squeezing the abdominal area now and then. Again, nothing I couldn’t handle with a few doses of ginger beer and salted buttermilk. Wednesday was, umm…ok, but there was something that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
All hell broke loose (as did my stomach) on Thursday, and I spent most of the day alternating between the potty and doubled up in bed groaning. My no-antibiotics rule flushed down the toilet along with other things, and I got on the bandwagon. The potatoes-in-oil were too strong for antibiotics, it seems, and while the runs have somewhat subsided and the stomach does not scream bloody-murder as loudly, there is a constant threat of the contents of my innards defying gravity and the moment my head leaves the pillow, the earth spins way faster than 1036 miles per hour.
I really like my sister-in-law and she IS a wonderful person as she is. I wonder how I can convince her of that.