Monday, April 08, 2013
I love baseball, And the only time that I think it's OK to eat a nasty hot dog is at a ball game, preferably when you get it from a roaming vendor and everyone in your row has to touch it to get it to you. I am normally very conscious of NOT eating things like I just described, but somehow at a baseball game, it's a fantastic idea. Maybe the beer kills all the germs, who knows. Anyway, this has been a tradition for me as long as I can remember. I have had hot dogs in more than half of the Major League stadiums!
But, no more. Thank you, Coors Field, for giving me a poisoned hot dog and ruining my baseball experience for the rest of my life.
Who knows if it was really the hot dog. Hubby had one and was OK, but then again he hasn't thrown up once in the 10 years we've been married. But I tasted that bad boy all afternoon... ugh, you know, the burps that make you think, "Maybe that wasn't the best idea." All I know for sure is, I got a second look at it about 6 hours later. I barfed ALL NIGHT and had a four-hour flight this morning. Ugh.
The good side, of course, is that I have Hot Dog PTSD and will likely never consume another one for the rest of my life. Oh well. I remember what the raccoons said hot dogs were made of in that John Candy movie, "The Great Outdoors." Uh- huh.
I am still recovering and only had a banana and some oatmeal today. It's a nice natural "reset" to get me back to my healthy eating plan. That doesn't include hot dogs. But does include a summer of baseball.