Stomach Woes

Several years ago, which the way I keep track of time is probably more like 10 or 12 years, one of my cousins got married. When the reception was announced my brothers, brothers-in-law, compared notes and made plans to attend. I think it was Wade who pointed out, “That place has the best food. It’ll be one not to miss. They have this beef and it is. . .” None of us needed to hear anymore; we were all in.

When the day arrived and we were all sitting around a table with plates piled high before us, a sort of unofficial contest broke out. Maybe my brother-in-law Mark or possibly my brother Trevor asked, “How many of those beef strips do you have on your plate?” He wasn’t asking anyone in particular, rather lobbing the idea out to the collective group. You know, just making sure the bar was clearly set for the evening. The menu included a salad I’m sure along with a nice selection of side dishes but once he’d pointed this out the focus shifted to these one-inch strips of bar-b-qued beef. Each strip was about half an inch thick and eight or so inches long. Game on.

I remember Graham, my youngest brother, being too young to compete in any serious fashion. He was maybe 14 or 15 and fit into the junior lightweight category just behind me. Neither of us made it past the single digit zone. Trevor gave things a good run, landing just north of the teens, but the real heavyweights were our two brothers-in-law Mark and Wade each finishing the evening well into the high teens. Each also complained for several days of “stomach issues” and my sister Jennifer added, “Mark smelled like that stinking beef for nearly a week.”

Last week Graham called me complaining about stomach trouble then relayed the following story. “So we were out with the in-laws and all the cousins and we went to McDonalds for dinner. My father-in-law, Don, and me and my brothers-in-law all ordered the 50 piece Chicken McNuggets meals for everyone to just share.” And here’s where I stopped him.

“Wait a minute, 50 pieces? I had no idea they made those.”

“Oh yeah, they’re awesome. They come with 50 McNuggets and a couple of orders of large frys and a few drinks,” he said.

“And everyone ate McNuggets?” I asked. “Even Devri?” I added, who is Graham’s wife.

“She ate a couple. I think,” he continued. “But that’s not the point. Dude, I ate 32.”

“What?”

“Yeah, 32. That was a day and a half ago though and my stomach isn’t, well, things aren’t really working if you know what I mean. And my stomach is killing me. Does that seem weird?”

It seems the junior lightweight has moved up to the full professional heavyweight class. And, no Graham, that doesn’t seem weird. Weird would be if you didn’t skip a beat after consuming what any normal human being would consider to be a disgustingly impossible amount of McNuggets.