Deb: For as long as I can remember I have had a hair-trigger gag reflex.
I come from a long line of gaggers. My father has to have the dentist spray his mouth to freeze it when doing any work, even just an examination.
I can relate. I am a visual gagger, most of us are. Worms, sidewalk spit, a hair in my food, all
But I am also a cerebral gagger. I just have to think of something that is potentially gross and I am off ... Heaving and spewing to beat the band. The human version of an expelling furball. It’s not pretty. And it can be embarrassing.
I was at a funeral once standing at the grave of a lovely man who died far too soon. Everyone was crying, tissues in hand. Except one woman who was wailing sans tissue allowing her nosily fluids to drip, nay, pour down her face and onto her clothes and the ground. Well, I don’t mind telling you ...
…wait a minute ... Gagging. Not even kidding. Wait. Wait. Breathe. Wait.
As I was saying, I don’t mind telling you that I started gagging and it was awful. People comforting me, thinking I was in a state. The man beside me took my arm thinking I was literally sick with grief. I nodded that I was okay, waved him away, and walked to my car, heaving and cacking all the way.
I have tried all the tricks. Breathe in through your nose, out from your mouth. Think of something lovely. Bend over at the waist. They say it’s impossible to gag if you are bent over at the waist. LIARS.
I also go through this every single morning when I take my vitamins. Pop one in––Gag. Next one––Gag! Think about the fact that I was just gagging––GAG. Realize I am going to gag the next time I take my vitamins––Gag.
My husband is the anti-gagger. Don’t think anything can make the man gag. Same with the boy. He is skitterish to be sure, but not a gagger. I am jealous of them.
I guess the only bright spot is that it’s good for toning up the old stomach muscles.
Still, I wish someone would put a gag order on me!
Barbara: Oh, Deb, you had me rolling on the floor with this one!
Hmmm, I guess I’m an anti-gagger. I don’t think I’ve ever really had a gag response to anything. In fact, I remember once waiting in a line-up for which they’d provided johnny-on-the-spots (okay, it was a warehouse sale and the line-up was hours long … this was back in my more-patience-than money days). Anyway, the johnny was not being used a lot and the line-up was predominantly women, so I’m assuming it couldn’t have been that offensive. But I watched in surprise as a woman burst out of that thing as if escaping gas-extermination, violently gagging and dry-heaving and hurling herself about in frantic dog-chasing-tail circles. “The smell, the smell,” she moaned with Apocolypse Now conviction. (I am now imagining poor Deb gagging at the mere thought of this display.) I stood there, ironclad-stomach and all, and watched her in silent wonder. It wasn’t possible, I thought, for anyone to be that sensitive, was it? Sorry, Deb, I actually (secretly) dubbed her a “drama queen”. Yes, I was a bit of Judgy McJudgerton.
But I take it back now and offer both you fine women a bit of a mea culpa. This is another reminder, isn’t it, of how we are all built a little differently. After all, we don’t ask for a gag-reflex, obviously don’t enjoy it, and certainly can’t control it. Queen of Gag maybe, but never Drama Queen.
And now for your enjoyment, Deb in all her gag-ilicious glory!
