Four years ago on my 30th birthday, my friend @bellejax and I spent a long weekend in San Fransisco. One night we wandered into China Town for dinner, and found ourselves in a dark and rather dank restaurant with old carpet and stiff drinks.
When our food arrived, we foolishly began eating without caution. So naive we were, completely unaware of the dangers floating in our garlic sauce.
About halfway through the meal, Bellejax let out a surprised "Oooh!" as she gazed down at, I thought, her fork. Holding up her hands with a look of surprise, she waggled her fingers at me from across the table. At first, I thought she was gleefully demonstrating how neat it was that they moved; celebrating the opposable thumbs that led our species to global domination. (Did I mention the stiff drinks?) But then I noticed how hindered their waggling was by their equally impressive swelling. Within minutes, her flesh was sausaging around the band of her wedding ring.
It occurs to me that my friend may not appreciate her fingers being described as doing anything so unflattering as "sausaging," so let me assure you that her fingers are usually lovely, long, slender digits. Which is why this sudden development was particularly notable.
With a few accusatory yelps of "MSG! MSG!" she dropped her fork in favor of repeated glasses of water.
Thankfully, I was not struck with the same chubby finger ailment and so I continued enjoying my meal. Distracted as I was with the spectacle across the table, however, I didn't realize that the bamboo shoot I was about to pop into my mouth was actually a ginormous piece of ginger.
Oh. My. God.
I'm still not sure why I didn't just spit it back out; why I felt obligated to be polite and suffer through it. Because, really, even if Bellejax hadn't been preoccupied with her own problems, I'm pretty sure she wouldn't have been offended by a polite little girly spit.
Instead, I carefully chewed, swallowed, gulped some water, and somewhat proudly announced, "I just ate a HUGE piece of ginger masquerading as bamboo!"
And that's when the real heat hit. My neck warmed, my ears pinked, my forehead perspired, and a fire ignited in my frontal lobe. I felt funny. But not in a good high kind of way. And then my vision went all crazy. It hurt to look at anything brown. And I was seeing random flashes of light.
Turns out the flashes were just some tourists taking photos on the street below us, but I honestly thought for a minute that I was suffering a ginger-induced stroke.
That's what happened when I ate too much ginger.
Which is just one of the 14 million reasons I will never allow it up my butt.