Blah: In More Than One Way...

Last night I made the decision to go out and hang with some friends for a weekly tradition they have of All You Can Eat Wings and Monday Night Football. Twas, I thought, a justified decision in that I hadn't seen them in a while and even though I was trying to eat healthier I thought what the heck?

So I show up a little late and ordered the first plate of wings. Despite my friend's warnings I chose to go off the beaten path and choose to eat the Cajun wings first. Biiig mistake! Needless to say it wasn't the same Cajun as I have come to love at such respectable establishments as Copeland's in Jacksonville or at the local Chile's.

While trying to put these wings away pretty quickly, one of my friends at the table basically lays down the gauntlet on the table and says, "Ya know Jim here has the record of 41 wings at one sitting." Hhhmmm...let's think about that totally out of the blue statement. I mean I was sitting there perfectly content with maybe one or two plates of wings and there my friend goes and challenges me. What could I do? So with a strange light in my eyes and a determined look on my face I ask for another plate and boldly proclaim to my friend that it will be no problem to totally crush Jim's "record". Boy was I in for it....

Three plates and two hours later I was reeling for fresh air and an empty bowl. My stomach was gurgling and my brain was telling me how incredibly stupid I was to have taken up the challenge to my manhood. And as if that wasn't enough Jim was sitting next to me, his record within the clutches of being overtaken, telling me how sick I was going to be....for the next three days. Wow.

I was on wing number 39 and all I needed was three more wings to overtake Jim's throne and I was dying. Literally being taken apart from the inside out. But hey, my manhood was on the line. Or so I convinced myself. I finish the 40th wing and ask for one more plate. All night long, the time period between finishing a plate and getting a new one was somewhere between 10 and 30 minutes (this is some conniving plan thought up by the restaurant to try and get you to become full enough to not be able to eat another plate. Ha!) But it seemed as if the world was against me at the moment because not 30 seconds later the waitress brought my last plate. The record was within my grasp. The question was could I even lift another finger and push aside my nauseated feelings to eat 2 more wings and quell the tide of disbelief and cat calls.

I take a napkin and dry off the two smallest wings on my plate from all the stomach churning grease and bit into the first one. Not so bad....Last one and the bragging rights for another 167 hours.....he could, go, all, the, way........and I do, I finish the 42nd and fling the plate away from em across the table and lay back in my seat and grab my stomach.

So its almost 10 in the morning the day after and I'm not all too sure that all that drama was worth the feelings I now have both physically and emotionally. I'm almost halfway through the day and I am entirely convinced I am not going to eat anything today, or probably the next two. Yea, I broke the record, proved my manliness, and stole the bragging rights right out of Jim's arms but,.... was it all worth it?