May 30, 2013: Full
I sneeze when I'm full. I mean, I really sneeze. Like twelve times. The waitress will ask if I'm okay and many times I have to excuse myself to the restroom. It's embarrassing. But at age forty-five, although I have done this my entire life, I haven't figured it out. I continue to eat too much. And I continue to sneeze.
I thought this was just a rare affliction until it was brought to my attention that my son, Ben, has the same problem. The last time we had a big, BIG, family dinner at the Outback, we both ended up in continual sneezes. He couldn't bear the thought of inheriting this unattractive trait, but he did.
One would think that we would know to stop eating once the hint of a sniffle would come on. I am getting better. I did stop tonight after one sneeze following a fajita and a margarita. But a higher standard should be the expectation.
I picture an assembly line with bells going off when capacity is reached. Shouldn't my sneezes be the same? One would think. Tomorrow is a new day. And maybe I can pick up some new tricks from Ben.