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July 7, 2011
gag (v.)
I don"t have much of a gag reflex. Most things, though gross, will elicit a verbal response from me instead. A gag, only comes now and again, when words just can't be processed in time.
Words, like the following, are great titles for wretched, sickly things we encounter in life:
"gross" (a go-to term for things that simply repulse us; overused in my vocabulary)
"yucky" (to describe things that elicit a pasty fat-tongue feeling at the back of your throat)
"disgusting" (for a response to something physically seen)
"creepy" or "uncanny" (if it gives me some kind of out-of-this-world, ephemeral shudder)
"foul" (if it's immoral or indescribably stinky)
"abysmal" (if I'm feeling dramatic or using a British accent)
"god-awful" or "fugly" (in response to bad fashion choices)
All of these words are great for making a negative remark and expressing a repulsed opinion about both the physical and abstract world. However, none of these words encompass what a gag does.
Gag encompasses a moment. It makes your eyes roll back, the skin go all goosebumpy, and the brain momentarily stop functioning. It's an experience where for an instant, the exact millisecond that the sparks in your mind fly to connect what's happening, your body follows with a simple gag.
Today, I gagged for the first time in a long time. I was sitting in my office keeping up my daily quota of 2L of water a day by sipping from my Nalgene. Before I knew it, I had something in my mouth - the texture of a leaf. I spat it out, instantly, and to my horror, realized it was a daddy long legs. Well, a deceased daddy long legs. My throat did some funny retraction thing, and there it was: a gag.
I eventually got over it, ate my peanut butter and banana sandwich and got on with my day, researching ebook series and fact checking an article on a universal influenza vaccine.
But it wasn't over.
A few hours later, I was on St Catherine walking home from work with a bounce in my step, in a giddy mood. I walked into the Jean Coutu there to buy some Bandaids and goat milk soap (my latest obsession). In the aisle, to my horror, another gag recurred.
What I'm about to show you probably does not warrant the gag reflex kicking in, but I guess the muscle memory kicked in with the long-legged bug still lingering in whatever part of my brain it is that files away trauma.
Here it is my friend. Something gag-worthy:
For other cilantro-haters like me, please join the anti-cilantro movement.
Thank you and good night, y'all.
*gag*
Words, like the following, are great titles for wretched, sickly things we encounter in life:
"gross" (a go-to term for things that simply repulse us; overused in my vocabulary)
"yucky" (to describe things that elicit a pasty fat-tongue feeling at the back of your throat)
"disgusting" (for a response to something physically seen)
"creepy" or "uncanny" (if it gives me some kind of out-of-this-world, ephemeral shudder)
"foul" (if it's immoral or indescribably stinky)
"abysmal" (if I'm feeling dramatic or using a British accent)
"god-awful" or "fugly" (in response to bad fashion choices)
All of these words are great for making a negative remark and expressing a repulsed opinion about both the physical and abstract world. However, none of these words encompass what a gag does.
Gag encompasses a moment. It makes your eyes roll back, the skin go all goosebumpy, and the brain momentarily stop functioning. It's an experience where for an instant, the exact millisecond that the sparks in your mind fly to connect what's happening, your body follows with a simple gag.
Today, I gagged for the first time in a long time. I was sitting in my office keeping up my daily quota of 2L of water a day by sipping from my Nalgene. Before I knew it, I had something in my mouth - the texture of a leaf. I spat it out, instantly, and to my horror, realized it was a daddy long legs. Well, a deceased daddy long legs. My throat did some funny retraction thing, and there it was: a gag.
I eventually got over it, ate my peanut butter and banana sandwich and got on with my day, researching ebook series and fact checking an article on a universal influenza vaccine.
But it wasn't over.
A few hours later, I was on St Catherine walking home from work with a bounce in my step, in a giddy mood. I walked into the Jean Coutu there to buy some Bandaids and goat milk soap (my latest obsession). In the aisle, to my horror, another gag recurred.
What I'm about to show you probably does not warrant the gag reflex kicking in, but I guess the muscle memory kicked in with the long-legged bug still lingering in whatever part of my brain it is that files away trauma.
Here it is my friend. Something gag-worthy:
For other cilantro-haters like me, please join the anti-cilantro movement.
Thank you and good night, y'all.
*gag*
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