How Not to Drink Ginger Ale

It started with the sauerkraut really. Or maybe the bratwurst.  But my money’s on the sauerkraut. Because, when you think about it, sauerkraut is just a stomachache waiting to happen.

But I digress.

The point is that while waiting for the Belmont Stakes, already somewhat emotional because yet another possible Triple Crown winner had gone up in smoke, I had bratwurst and sauerkraut. And in my highly agitated state, it did not sit well. A quick search of the cupboard revealed that all the stomach medicine had expired so I went for the next best thing.

Ginger ale.

Ginger ale that was even more highly agitated than I was. There should be a warning on the can about this highly aggressive ginger ale. Specifically, not to attempt to drink any of it until the fireworks die down.  But there was no warning label.  So I picked up my glass and the ginger ale version of a bottle rocket shot into my left eye. I felt the ping when it hit.

And then the burning began.

I rinsed my eye with water, but that only seemed to encourage the ginger ale to burn more. I tried eye drops, but that only made my eye turn redder and redder.  The label on the eye drops promised relief.

What I got was a massive allergic reaction.

Huge itchy red blotches broke out all up and down both arms and my left leg. My right leg, in a strange moment of independence, only had one small spot, but my left leg had more than enough rash for two. In a desperate attempt not to scratch myself bloody, I took some expired Benadryl. (It was only a little expired. Several months younger than the stomach stuff.)

And the itching stopped.

So did consciousness. But when you are covered with a horrible itchy rash, maybe unconsciousness is the best option anyway.

So ten days and a trip to the dermatologist later, I am still splotchy, but a lot less itchy. My left eye is clear again. There is still no Triple Crown winner. And I’m never drinking ginger ale again.


2 thoughts on “How Not to Drink Ginger Ale

  1. Methinks Virginia Rappe was behind the ginger ale attack.

    Think about it.

    Robin, haunted by dead silent film stars via soft drinks. Sounds like the beginnings of a great screenplay, if you ask me!

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