“You look anemic,” A. said as we relaxed in the sack.
“I have dark circles?”
“Oh yeah. You know what’s good for that?”
“Having a mutant stick a giant syringe in your ass while you’re passed out on the toilet?”
According the Sun Maiden, a quarter cup of raisins will give you ten percent of your daily iron requirement. A. bought a few bags, filled little bowls with dark pulpy nuggets and put them around the living room. We ate eight ounces each.
“They’re crunching,” I said. “Are raisins supposed to crunch?” My tongue felt like it was covered with papercuts.
“Oh, that. It’s bits of wood, and grapevine,” A. explained, munching with apparent ease. (How does he know so much about shrivelled fruit? Clearly there is some serious study going on while I’m at work.)
By the time Barbara Walters came on I was feeling a bit funny.
“What’s wrong?” A. asked. “Too much iron in your blood?”
“Har har,” I said as I crashed into the bathroom.
Sadly, there is only one remedy that will stop the California Raisins from rocking out in my intestines…
The Last Medication.
(Of Doom and Incredible Awkwardness on Road Trips)