Saturday, November 28, 2015

The surprise was thinking there'd be no impact

There was a half-eaten Santa-themed Kinder Surprise (1) on the partial wall that surrounds the kitchen.

It was after midnight and I was peckish.

So I ate it.

This morning I realised I needed to go when still at the shops getting morning papers so made haste for home. When I got to go—and it was a close call—it was massaman all over again. And I blame the Kinder Surprise—the milkiest of all milky chocolate.

Actually I blame me. I shouldn't have eaten it. I mean why contribute to already disquieted IBS?

I'll tell you why. Because I am weak and because I honestly thought that such a little amount couldn't possibly have an impact.

How wrong I was—because that resulted in a three flusher. I already knew it would be a twofer—I flushed twice—but I didn't hang around to check. That's how bad it was, that it needed a third go, and I found out when a hotly theboy demanded to know who left it there.

Curse you, Kinder Surprises.  

(1) It was theboy's. He cranked up when he found out I stole it. So for him the entire experience was a twofer—denied chocolate then saw toilet chocolate; horrid, horrid, toilet chocolate. 

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