On Saturday evening, Sabrine and I went to a lovely restaurant for dinner – the Indian Curry House.  The two young servers smiled a lot.  So did the older hostess.  And she bowed to us as we were leaving.

I wanted to celebrate Sabrine’s and my friendship with a Belgian beer.  I chose Leffe Brune … brewed in an abbey, with an alcohol content of 6.5%

My dinner was mango chicken, immersed in a sauce that was adjacent to heaven.  And we had a sweet talk.

That’s the good stuff.

Soon after leaving the restaurant, I felt nauseous and I was having trouble swallowing.  (I won’t mention the burps)

Nearly all my adult life, when I’m hungry and the food is delicious, I’ve eaten too much and too fast.  On Saturday, I forgot Dr. Lahae’s advice to eat slowly and chew lots.  I also forgot about my earlier intuition that strong Belgian beer is bad for me.

More sauce!  Faster!  Such amnesia.

As Sabrine and I walked in the general direction of home, something bitter was climbing my throat.  I told her I had to sit down.  I reached into my backpack and pulled out a plastic bag.  Usually I use it for leftover restaurant food but this time I had another purpose in mind.

Wow.  Sitting on a bench with a slow flow of people passing by, wondering if I was about to vomit in front of a friend.  I’d never done that.  Just in the presence of Jody, my wife.

Sabrine was so kind.  She said it was fine no matter what happened.  She wasn’t going anywhere.

There we sat as the nausea rolled, me accessorizing with a plastic bag in my hand, looking so … unique.  Sabrine simply still and quiet.

***

I didn’t puke, and eventually found my bed.  I thought long about changes my body needs for me to continue being happy, and therefore for me to continue contributing to the lives of others.

Is it goodbye to Leffe?

And to large, rich meals?

Perhaps

Hmm … I wonder what I’ll say “Hello” to