Just Call Me Rice Milk Cowboy...

A startling thing happened last night: I was coming home from a party/discussion/salon thingy with some friends, where I'd had two glasses of wine, and as I neared my stop, I stepped in front of the subway train's door, near two other guys. And then, as often happens when I drink wine, I belched--quietly. It was more like a tummy spasm.

The guy in front of me screwed up his nose. "Jesus!" he said, and waved his hand in front of his face.

"Oh, was that me? I'm sorry," I said. I know I belch, but I had no idea I was that pungent.

And that single experience sealed it for me, I suspect. One of the reasons I've been so focused on figuring out what I'm allergic to is that I was told by two unimpeachable sources that I had bad breath. I immediately went nuclear on my brushing, and flossing (with the tongue scrapers, and the Breath-X formula mouthwash, the whole shebang) and got better reviews, so I thought things were okay. But even while this was happening, I thought, "I was always pretty good about brushing and flossing already. I wonder if this isn't a function of my breath so much as my stomach being upset and sending up a flare."

So today, I still had a little bit of the wine left, and I thought, "Let's see what happens." I drank it---and damned if, ten minutes later, I didn't start belching. Dammit!

I'm still in a little shock over this, but the implications would seem to be clear: I am intolerant of, allergic to, or in some way tummy-sensitive to wine. Since I also know I have this reaction to whiskey (I just assumed my whiskey belches were similarly benign; guess not!), I suspect I need to stop drinking alcohol. This is just fucking cruel. Next thing you know I'll be allergic to fornication ("I can't get it up unless we're both wearing gold rings!"), and Baby Jesus will have beaten me completely.

Having said that, a good friend of mine bought me a tiny bottle of hard-to-find single-malt scotch that I do, in fact, intend to crack open the second I get an agent. But I think I'll be celebrating alone, and then waiting for the worst side effects to evanesce before I emerge and actually talk in the direction of peoples' faces. In the meantime, I'm trying to cheer myself up by just thinking of all the money I'll be saving. It'll come in handy when I need to start buying antidepressants.

AFTERNOTE: I'm already doing the other stuff everyone recommends: chlorophyll tablets, wheatgrass, and so forth. And since I find the entire topic embarrassing enough as it is, I'm going to be unlikely to approve any comments my readers might leave about breath problems. Eesh. But I'll accept other sorts of commiseration, which I clearly need.

FURTHER AFTERNOTE: I just realized that today is technically St. Patrick's Day--the day that, five years ago, introduced me to the joys of single malt scotch. The hits just keep on coming.