My brother once dated a girl named Lisa. Lisa had a football shaped head that begged to be punted, and didn’t like me. (That probably requires its own post along with a full evaluation by a psychologist, but my brother explained it to me like so: Lisa’s youngest sister was an irresponsible, childish, selfish, immature, spoiled brat. What’s that got to do with me, you ask? I want to know, too. But apparently, she projected those feelings onto me, her boyfriend’s younger sister, though Lisa herself was younger than me, and I was, at the time, at most, a quarter of those things. Her little sister was an awful person, by all accounts. I never met her, though.)
Every holiday, my family has huge dinner parties because we like to eat, and we love to socialize with each other. I’m sure you all know that from reading this blog. Mostly we like to eat, though.
Lisa began attending these holiday dinners, and bringing her own dishes. Two years in a row, she brought a ham dish – I believe a ham roast of some sort, I never looked at it because I don’t like ham steak all that much.
One year, a few days after the dinner, I was digging through the fridge for leftovers to make myself a sandwich or some ramen, whatever. My mother suggested trying the ham, as “Lisa made it, she worked pretty hard on it and you never eat it. No wonder she doesn’t like you.” (Okay, fine, my mom didn’t say those last words, but they were heavily implied.) I believe Lisa was in the kitchen at the time – fixing herself something to eat, perhaps – so I shrugged and accepted the slices Lisa offered me, added it to my meal, and ate it. It was fine – it didn’t make me love ham – but within a few hours, I was curled in the fetal position, unable to move, unable to keep food in me by any means. If I drank something, I would immediately throw it back up. I didn’t bother to try to eat anything, as I found myself in the bathroom more often than not the first 24 hours. (Sorry! I know this is a food site, but really, with a title like The Art of Poison, did you expect something pretty?)
It isn’t so odd to get sick from food, but I stayed sick for a full week, unable to eat, hardly able to drink anything. I lost 15 lbs, which was only slightly less than 15% of my body weight. No one else got sick from the ham, a fact that everyone is quick to point out, but Lisa never did like me and I’m fully convinced that she poisoned me and me alone. I have no idea how she did it – especially so quickly and on the fly like that – but I am POSITIVE she poisoned me.
Lisa eventually left the picture (thank God), but to this day, I can’t smell ham steak without gagging. Worst of all, though, following that, I didn’t eat pork or pork products (aside from bacon) for a good 5 years, and after that, extremely cautiously. Pork chops? Not a chance! Pork belly. Pulled pork. Pork ribs. Pork… pork… pork!!! I blame her for my dearth of pork pigging out, something I completely regret as I now love pork and can’t even imagine life without it!
If you’re reading this, fuck you, Lisa.