Like with many people, my digestion has gotten a lot more talkative as I’ve gotten older. We don’t usually have extensive discussions unless I go to the seafood buffet, but I’ve become fluent enough to carry on a basic conversation in Gurglish (that’s what I’ve named the language of my alimentary canal). My small intestine, which is the chattiest of the bunch, likes to wait until I’m out in public and then tell me long stories about how much better things used to be in my gastrointestinal tract, with the other organs chiming in for emphasis. Here’s how the major players in my digestive system tell me it used to be in their salad days:
Infancy
Mouth: Milk! Oh, boy! This is the best thing ever!
Stomach: Look, I’m not saying it’s not awesome, I’m just saying, we’ve had milk for the last two hundred and seventy three meals. Couldn’t we change it up a little? Maybe some juice, a little cereal?
Small Intestine: We could try spitting up again. I think we’re really getting the hang of it.
Large Intestine: Wake me up when there’s something for me to do.
Childhood
Large Intestine: What on earth is she eating this time?
Stomach: I’ve stopped asking.
Mouth: Yesterday she ate what was in the dog’s bowl, and I’m not sure all of it was food.
Small Intestine: I’m debating throwing up just on principle. Thoughts?
Stomach: Let’s do it.
Adolescence
Mouth: Pizza!
Stomach: Pizza!
Small Intestine: Pizza!
Large Intestine: I hate you.
College years
Mouth: Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!
Stomach: I’s were not shurr no food izzz good idea, now— oh, escussse me.
Large Intestine: How come no one ever invites me to the party?
Small Intestine: Everybody stop everything, I think we’re gonna hurl!
Young Adulthood
Mouth: Ow ow ow! She didn’t let the coffee cool down again!
Stomach: Now, that’s just careless. And I see we’re having Pop-Tarts for breakfast again. One of these days, Metabolism is going to go on strike.
Small Intestine: Come on, guys! We’re not that fussy little GI tract we used to be; we’re in our prime! We can handle anything she throws at us! Let’s get those digestive juices flowing! Who’s with me?
Large Intestine: Whatever. I think it’s all crap.
Small Intestine: That’s the spirit!
Now
Mouth: Did that Number 7 meal seem off to anyone else?
Stomach: Don’t ask me. I’ve been empty for hours, and now suddenly I’m dodging half-chewed chunks of Big Mac and a side of fries I think she swallowed whole!
Large Intestine: Were the fries at least hot?
Mouth: Lukewarm.
Stomach: At best.
Small Intestine: That’s it! HUMAN! HEY! YEAH, YOU! LEARN TO CHEW! AND TRY EATING SOMEWHERE WITHOUT A TAKOUT WINDOW, WHY DON’T YOU? AND WHILE YOU’RE AT IT, EAT SOME FREAKING LETTUCE ONCE IN A WHILE! IT’S CALLED “ROUGHAGE,” MORON!
Large Intestine: Amen.
It’s a tough job, being an alimentary canal. Twenty-somethings, learn from my example and start eating better before your small intestine starts yelling at you. Oh, and my stomach was right: Metabolism did go on strike. Negotiations are ongoing. That one may take a while.
Incidentally, major kudos to anyone who got my truly awful digestion joke in the beginning. If you didn’t get it, honestly, don’t try. It was really bad.
Image, as usual, in the public domain via pixabay.com.
I do my best philosophical thinking while I’m folding laundry. The other day, as I folded yet another fitted sheet and realized both that I actually know how to fold a fitted sheet, and also that there is no point to folding a fitted sheet, I started thinking about how many other things I know that serve no practical purpose. For instance, I know Cookie Monster’s first name. It’s Sid. No one needs to know that (except, presumably, Sid).
I went on Tumblr a few times to try to understand what it is, but the longest I went without getting trapped in porn was fourteen minutes. It may be that porn is, in fact, the proper use of Tumblr, I’m not sure. But I’m told there’s more to it, and knowing how to use Tumblr seems more relevant these days than knowing how to use a finger bowl— at any rate, it’s certainly more common. So if you’re interested or if you’ve got something else to trade, feel free to make an offer. I’m open to negotiation, and I really want my mind-garage back.