Why you should never be trapped in a box with me and how Toddlers and Tiaras starts wars.

So for real, if I was ever a prisoner of war, I’d totally give up state secrets if one of two things happened:

(1) they did anything in the world that made me even remotely nauseous, or

(2) they made it hot and humid.

And if they combined those two things, I’d just blurt out anything to make it stop and hopefully be freed from whatever remote location I was in. I’d tell all of my deepest, darkest secrets, and probably all of yours. And perhaps just me starting to tell my deepest, darkest secrets from the depths of my black velvet diary would make my captors give me back to my country because I bored the shit out of them.

Oh, also, if they made me watch “Toddlers and Tiaras,” I’d definitely cave. Because that’s for real the equivalent of someone plucking your eyelashes out one by one while simultaneously giving you a lobotomy.

This, coming from someone who voluntarily watched the entire season of “Wilson Phillips: Still Holding On”.

Please make it stop. I’ll tell you whatever it is you want to know. Just please don’t make me watch a three year old get a spray tan. I’m begging you.

But what’s shocking about this for all of you, I’m sure, is that I’m totally tough: I’ve run two marathons, I’m harboring some sort of TB right there in my left lung, and I for real have some freakish upper body Hulk strength that comes from doing not much of anything except lifting piles of gummy bears into my mouth.

Oh, and I’ll totally circle back to the TB at some point on this blog. Be patient. Also, don’t let me cough on you.

Anyway, this comes up because last night it was, like, jungle hot and humid and I thought I was going to die. Also, I have what my mother likes to call a “flare for the dramatic.”

Case in point. It was both hot and humid AND I may have been being a tad dramatic. But definitely wasn’t nauseous. That came later. Thank you, tequila.

And when it gets that hot and humid, my stomach starts to hurt and I stop being hungry and then I start wondering if this is nature’s way of thinning me out for the summer so as not to scare the tourists. And then I start to panic-eat, because that’s a normal reaction to nausea and heat, and then I start to feel sicker. And less thin.

So anyway, to calm my stomach and quench my thirst, I went across the street and bought a 7Up. Obviously. But this is where I think I strayed from the norm of social interaction and decorum. In the midst of the standard cashier/customer chit-chat, I think I may have possibly said that I was buying the 7Up not to drink, but rather, to pour all over my body in my apartment.

What?

Yeah. It just came out, and this is the problem with how my brain works. It says stuff out loud that totally isn’t even going to happen but sounds incredibly creepy and weird and then it’s too late and now I’m the 7Up kinkster from across the street!

But I think this is how it maybe happened. You’ll totally see where I’m coming from, I’m sure:

Cashier: “It’s so hot out right now, right?”

Me: “Ugh, yes, I’m dying. Which is why I’m buying this. I can’t even function.”

Cashier: “Yeah, this’ll definitely be refreshing.”

Me: “Definitely, especially when I pour it all over my body out of necessity.”

So, you know, that happened. And then I walked away.

Moral of the story: never go to war with me anywhere in case we get captured. Because they’ll definitely let me go and keep you for the ransom. I’m sorry. Also, you maybe will want to get yourself checked for TB upon your release.  Love, Becky.