I Want To Unswallow... or The Girl Who Tried Too Much Too Fast

Let us lay the scene. A pretty, young American girl skips out the front door of her Hong Kong dorm and down the busy street. Her perky red curls shine in the sun, she's perfectly outfitted for the windy, cool day in denim capris, a black turtleneck, black and gold flats and a dark teal jacket. Her yellow croc skin purse is tucked neatly under her arm and her long silver earrings bounce between her curls and her neck. She brightly trots down the two hundred and sixty-three steps to the entrance of the Westwood Mall.

Inside she finds all sorts of treasures (like much needed nail polish remover and Clemson orange hangers) and after an hour or so of shopping she spots a McDonald's. She pauses. She thinks. While she hates to be the only American in a McDonald's or to be looked at in that obese stereotypical way, some salty fries sound mighty tasty. She struggles, but eventually gives in knowing that no amount of delicious pork lo mein will satisfy her now that those french fries are in her mind.

So she orders a sandwich, a diet coke, some hot fresh fries. She sits back in the corner, out of sight. She gorges. Its so delectable and greasy and the young girl is in fast food heaven. So she inhales the fries and the crispy chicken sandwich and the surprisingly small coke.

And it hits her. She is a long way from home. And her belly is now very full. And she's on foot.

The unhappy girl wanders about the mall for another 20 minutes hoping to digest, but its getting dark out and it will be cold soon. So she walks out into the street. Luckily here in Hong Kong they are very sensible and would never expect a fashionable young lady to trudge up 263 steps. There's an outdoor lift (that's an escalator to you western-folk). But soon she reaches the top of the lift and her belly no emptier and her journey no shorter. The girl takes a deep breath and starts out.

She walks slowly, not wanting to overexert herself. For a while she is fine. Uncomfortable, but fine. Soon though, the course home takes her uphill. She soldiers on, trying to keep a brave face. Those fries are now fighting to break through the wall of her stomach and escape their tiny prison. The thought dawns on the girl that she may throw up. Well that certainly isn't a very good idea. Not just the thought of regurgitating in public on a city street or the second-time-round taste of McD's. No, even if she did throw up, she has no water, no gum, no mints and she's still a quarter of her walk from home. Throwing up is not an option.

Of course now the thought is there, and it seems she'd be so much happier without all those fries and chicken sandwich. The final leg of her journey is plagued with the constant battle of which would be the less of the two evils: the taste of vomit or the ache in her belly. She finally makes the last few steps round the corner of her building and begins to feel the release of relief when.....

There it was. That ridiculous flight of steps one must climb to reach an elevator. And so she climbs. It pains her to do so, but she is so very close to her room, her bed, a pair of pants with an elastic wasteband. She drags herself up the last few steps, around the corner to the elevators, into an elevator, out of an elevator, down the hall around the corner and up to her door. She leans on the door and fumbles for her keys. Inside she kicks off her shoes, already feeling better with room for her feet to stretch. She drops her bags, her yellow purse, gently shakes off her jacket and falls onto the bed where her belt and pants are immediately removed. For a half of an hour she lay still. Then she blogged about what a silly, stupid girl she really was.