Okay, so I don't live in a hollow (often called hollers around here), exactly. But they're all around. It wouldn't take me long to get to one. The hiccups (also known as hiccoughs, which I don't like the looks of written out), however, are the God's honest truth. I had a run-in with them last night that lasted over half an hour. I hate hiccupping under the best of circumstances, but it was hot as hell and I was not in the mood. To describe my state of mind as out of sorts would be putting it mildly.
There are all kinds of folk remedies for hiccups, and I tried most of them. First, I drank about a quart of water. Nada. Hic.
Then I drank a Diet Coke. That seemed to make it worse, so I had a glass of water. Hic-hic.
Despite the heat straight from the fabled fiery flames, I made myself a cup of coffee. I figured I'd try to burn the suckers out. All that got me was hotter than when I started. I drank two more glasses of water. And I was still hiccing to beat the band.
That meant it was time to call out the big guns -- holding my breath. I don't like to do that except as a last resort, and this was. I count when I have to hold my breath. I can usually make it to 100 -- except that I lose count when I start turning blue and have to start all over. And meanwhile, I'm hiccupping like a Rent-A-Wreck out of oil. Regardless of the count, or the delicate blue hue of my skin which made me look like a Pictish warrior woman, the hiccups continued unabated. In fact, oxygen deprivation seemed to give them new life. I chugged a glass of iced tea. Bupkis. Hic. Gulp. Hic-hic.
Quickly approaching the border of desperation, I remembered hearing that a spoonful of sugar was supposed do the trick. I had a spoon and I had some sugar, so down the hatch it went. It made me feel like barfing, but it didn't stop those damned demon-driven hiccups. Instead, I downed about another quart of water.
God, what next, I wondered? What were some of the other tried and true remedies I'd heard of?
Paper bag! Yeah, I seemed to recall that breathing into a paper bag was one of the most trustworthy methods of hiccup control. I just knew that would by God put me out of my misery. Well, I searched my house over in quest of a paper bag and wouldn't you know, there was not a sack to be found that wasn't plastic. I guess I could have gone to Burger King and ordered a load of food in order to get the big paper bag it would come in, but who can drive when you're hiccing like a maniac? And I've seen enough episodes of CSI to know better than to stick my head in a plastic bag, so that method of hic control was out. I wanted out of my misery, but not permanently.
At the penultimate moment, just when I was getting ready to take the desperate measure of asking the hubs to scare me, they just ... stopped. It was about damn time, too. I had myself a nice little stomachache going on from hiccing for half an hour.
I don't know what causes hiccups. I don't know what I did to the forces of nature that caused it to slap me down with such a bad case. I know it wasn't from over-eating; it's so hot I barely ate anything all day. It wasn't from boozing; my facial cleanser is the closest thing to alcohol I've been around lately. It wasn't caused by a hissy fit, too much sex (or money), too-tight underwear, reading bad porn, yodeling, or stage fright. I just hope the evil hics don't return any time soon. I spent about half the night in the bathroom because of all that water and I'm too tired to deal with it today.
Words Gone Wild tackled by TWISTED LINGUISTICS today:
allegatons - Charges filed against alligators.
travestity - Bad implants.
enviroment - The atmosphere around LaLa Land.
consiladate - Lumping everything you need to make amends for into one pile.
5 Dollors - How much a really dolled up crack ho can get.
|You Are Cereal|
Playful and lighthearted, breakfast is likely your favorite meal of the day.
(In fact, you're probably the type who sneaks cereal as a midnight snack.)
Your culinary skills are probably a bit lacking... and you are a sucker for junk food.
Some people accuse you of eating like a kid, but you prefer to think of yourself as low maintenance.