A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down

Here is the second installment of Heather vs Hot Dogs. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, go here. It may or may not help your understanding of this post.

My elementary school used to include swimming lessons as part of our PE class during the last month of school (when the weather could be warm enough to use the neighbourhood outdoor pool). On the last day of our lessons we had a picnic; we were instructed to bring our own hot dogs and buns to the picnic so they could get grilled up on the portable barbecue.

The thing about swimming for me is that it is an activity that leaves me ravenous. I knew this even as a young child. The morning of my last swimming lesson, my mom was packing my lunch and she asked me if I wanted one hot dog or two. Automatically, I said two; Mom was skeptical and said "But they're really big, are you sure?". I assured her that I was sure and that I would eat both hot dogs; she packed both hot dogs.

After swimming, we all piled out of the pool and into the park; I brought my lunch to my teacher. She looked skeptically at the lunch my mom had packed and asked if I was sure I wanted two hot dogs, they were really big after all. I assured her that I was sure and that I would eat both hot dogs; she grilled both hot dogs.

After getting my lunch back, I pulled up a piece of ground and started eating. I started out with gusto; I was going strong and two hot dogs were no match for me. Why anyone doubted the eating ability of an 8 year old girl was beyond me. That is until I got most of the way through the first one. With the first one firmly in my gut, I felt very full; I thought I just had to walk it off, make room for the second one. I started walking around the park, but the more I walked, the more nauseous I felt.

I was stumbling around the park, looking sick and carrying a hot dog. After a bit more stumbling, I started feeling really, really sick; I went into the bathroom, sure I was going to vomit. I walked into the stall and stared down at the toilet, willing myself not to throw up. Once I gained composure I took in my surroundings; I stared death in the face when I realized I was still carrying that blasted second hot dog.

I felt nauseous at the thought of eating it, I felt stupid for being so adamant that I could finish both hot dogs. I couldn't very well admit defeat, apparently something I've never been good at. I decided to put the hot dog in it's place. And I did. I flushed that bad boy down the toilet.

Since I was just a kid and didn't understand basic concepts such as indoor plumbing, I didn't break it up into small pieces and flush them one or two at a time. No, no. I literally flushed the entire hot dog down the toilet. I realized mid-flush that it may have been a mistake, but I went with it and down it went. I breathed a sigh of relief and skipped out of the bathroom with new found enthusiasm one can only get from narrowly escaping death's grip.

My teacher saw me shortly after, saw that I had no lunch left. She asked me if I had finished both hot dogs, I smugly replied that I had.

As our little conversation was wrapping up, another student came running up to the teacher and asked if she knew how to get parks people to come down; she asked the student why she thought the park ranger was required. The student replied that one of the toilets in the girl's washroom was clogged and was flooding the entire bathroom.

I guess it didn't go down as well as I thought.