Boats are interesting, with the constant motion of the ocean. In my body the motion of the ocean is countered by the stillness … of … well, of the lower intestinal tract. I am usually quite comfortable when things shut down in Bowelville, even if it’s a week. But usually when nothing is moving down there, I’m not on a boat with unlimited food.
Every meal I allowed myself one tablespoon of everything at the buffet, which filled up my plate, then I went back for seconds of what I liked. For days and days I ate like this, one “tasting” course and then an entire meal on top of that.
Three days in I stopped being comfortable. I added a breakfast of apples and oatmeal instead of grits and bacon.
The next day I kicked it up to muesli and prunes. Ten prunes.
The next day I considered the nuclear option: Eggs Benedict.
I didn’t do it, though. I have finally learned my lesson. In fact, in New Orleans a man was at the hotel restaurant complimenting the server on “the best eggs Benedict” he’d ever had. I was tempted to order them for a moment, then thought better of it.
Eventually, the prospect of dry land and a day with three cappuccinos straightened things out.