My eating habits are pretty disgusting. It hasn’t always been like this. In fact, until about my senior year of college I mostly ate grilled chicken and steamed vegetables or salad. And then I started living with the Ferret. To be fair, my abandonment of fruits and vegetables as my dietary staples is not entirely her fault. Prior to our tenure as roommates I had the occasional lapse and would consume an entire pizza or a giant sausage grilled on the back of a truck. However, under the Ferret’s tutelage I really learned how to maximize my caloric intake. More specifically, I would eat almost anything seen here. Unfortunately, my lust for bad for you foods comes with a terrible side effect, the meat sweats.
Thee meat sweats are a terribly uncomfortable condition in which you consume so much food, so zealously that you break out into a cold sweat as if the food is literally trying to come out of your pores. It is just as disgusting as it sounds.
The first time I was afflicted with the meat sweats I had been out partaking in some revelry and decided to cap the night off with a trip to late night. Briefly, late night was this magical thing dining services did at my University; Thursday through Saturday every week the dining halls were open until 2AM and served fried food to the drunken masses. It was as ridiculous and wonderful as you can imagine. In any case, after cramming 4 chicken fingers dunked in barbecue sauce into my face I decided to pay Boyfriend a visit. Boyfriend, again is not a boy and not someone I am romantic with. She is my biffle from high school who I also happened to go to college with and she also happens to be the mother of thesevenyearplan’s pirate mascot. In any case, one year she lived across from the dining hall which meant I paid her random/belligerent visits on a semi regular basis. On this particular evening I was quite full from consuming a plethora of frothy beverages and said chicken fingers. Upon arriving at her dorm I flung the door open and greeted her and her roommate, Dactyl, by shouting, ‘I’ve got the meat sweats’ and almost immediately thereafter passing out. Class. Act.
The hilarity of the story is lost on no one and this tale has become rather epic amongst my associates. This is mostly because the meat sweats are now a significant part of my mealtime experiences and are about as inextricably linked as napkins or silverware. Steel City Bride recently moved to Boston and has been lucky enough to see me overcome with the meat sweats on a number of occasions. In my defense, she and Steel City Groom are no slouches when it comes to eating themselves sick, so it’s not like I am binging with gusto all by my lonesome.
In any case, I really outdid myself last week as it was Thanksgiving, the favorite holiday of gluttons like myself. About halfway through my carbohydrate course I pushed away from the table and dragged the back of my right hand across my forehead. My mother looked at me knowingly, “meat sweats?”
Well don’t you know my entire ginormous, loud Irish Catholic family fell silent just as she uttered those words. Thirty pairs of horrified, cobalt eyes stared at the sweat beading up on my forehead. Before I could burp and commence an explanation, Steel City Bride jumped to my rescue and managed to paint me as the delicate flower I am. Kidding, she actually regaled my family with a story of how one her classmates became concerned after he consumed a bag of candy and broke out into a cold sweat. She assured him that he would be totally fine as her cousin gets the meat sweats all the time. He asked how he (meaning me, assuming I was a man) got rid of them. To which Steel City Bride informed him that I was in fact a girl, and available as my aunt’s chimed in.
One hour and 2 pieces of cheesecake later I found myself hovering over the dessert table going “I just want to keep tasting it. Is it totally weird if I just take a bite of chocolate cream pie and then spit it into my napkin?” Yes, yes that is weird and no I did not end up doing that. Maturity? I think so.