You'd think vanilla is fairly innocuous. It smells like summertime and it has such a nice name: Vanilllllllllaaaa. Anyway, this morning I gave myself vanilla poisoning.
I made French toast for breakfast and accidentally dumped in way too much vanilla, ate it anyway, and then became in immediate danger of hurling. This required professional medical advisement, so I called my mommy, and she told me that vanilla is about 45% alcohol. So essentially I had a shot before driving into work this morning. Thus explains such an excellent mood on a Tuesday morning.
And now there's a hangover. My mouth is dry and my head hurts and everything. It shouldn't surprise me that I'm nauseated, as my body reacts to every single upset in my life-- stress, pelvic exams, war, high winds-- with the need to spew.
This is what comes of trusting the French.
September 23, 2003