The last couple of days, I have been increasingly alarmed about my condition. I didn’t want to mention it too soon, but yesterday, let me tell you, I started to worry. My tongue is hurting. It’s like the alcohol is drying it out, beating it down. Since food and flavor is such an integral part of my quality world, this caused a moment of worry.
“If I thought I was going to ruin my taste buds, I would shut this project down right now,” I announced to Michelle, clear about my flavor-soaked plans for the rest of our life together.
She looked at me, puzzled. “You’d stop because you didn’t want to ruin your tongue, but you don’t mind ruining your liver?”
That’s how mean women talk sometimes. Ever notice that?
“It’s not that,” I corrected. “It’s just that you can monitor your liver’s functioning to know if there’s a problem. But what if I’ve already burned off my buds?”
What you don’t know can be scary (check it out–I’m not digressing into a discussion of fear-mongering Christian preachers!). I’ve learned today that your taste buds regenerate themselves every ten days or so, so perhaps I can relax. And I already knew that much of taste is picked up through the sense of smell. So it’s probably no big deal, but having your tongue be tired of the same thing and feel like sandpaper is a little worrisome. I’m thinking of massaging it in olive oil tonight for a little moisturizing magic.
I go to the doctor for my two-week check-up tomorrow morning for him to monitor my freaking liver. But I’ll also be asking him about my precious tongue, rest assured.
For the record: 147.5 pounds today.