I have a whole new respect for anorexic people. I spent most of yesterday in the clutches of a very painful stomachache that would not go away despite my taking numerous pills of varying strengths. By two am this morning, a lightbulb was lit over my head as the first wave of nausea came through. Of course! That was why the pills didn't work, these weren't cramps, I'd just eaten something that my stomach violently disagreed with and apparent they were having one hell of a domestic squabble in there, while I lay on the floor trying to take my mind off the pain. First thought: must throw up. Second thought: how the hell? I recalled reading about anorexia and how the victims would induce vomiting by sticking a finger down their throat and viola, instant barfing session! However, being the antithesis of an anorexic, I wasn't quite so sure about that method being for me... Maybe if all else failed, but for now, there were tried and tested methods I could call upon.

First solution: Call upon a childhood companion of tummyaches: ENO. For those who have never heard of it, ENO is a frizzy powder you add to a glass of water and gulp down as fast as possible while ignoring the little fizzy explosions that would fly into your face as you drank. As a child, I would love it not just because I didn't know any other soft drinks with enough attitude to fly into my face as I drank them, but also because my mum would make it a sort of race, you have to finish the drink before the explosions die out! Turns out there was a small sachet of ENO lying around, of dubious expiry date, but it would do. I popped it in and discovered it was orange flavored as opposed to the standard lemony flavor it used to be ten years ago. Sacrifices must be made for the greater good, and so I shut my eyes and drank. Aaah, finished. I stood outside the kitchen, where I had set the empty glass down expectantly, happily awaiting the inevitable nausea. Two minutes ticked by, no activity within. Chalo, it'll probably take a couple of minutes to work, so let us sit down near the bathroom door and wait. Ten minutes tick by, then fifteen. This is not working! I have been let down by ENO! Time for plan B.

Second Solution: ENO, I have officially outgrown you, I mentally add as I snort contemptuously at the remaining sachets. Time for the backup plan: 7-up with salt. Usually good for burps but has possibilities for more serious repercussions, as I discovered one night when everyone was watching a Pakistan India cricket match and paying no attention to my bitching and moaning about my stomachache. 7-Up it is! Maybe dad stored some in the fridge. Indeed, he has! Add some salt, sit down, drink a couple of sips, wait. Nothing so far. Drink some more, wait. Still nothing. Lie down, read a book. Fifteen minutes later, still no action. This is getting ridiculous! Who knew someone who whines so much could have such a strong stomach? Muttering curses that make varying amounts of sense, I lie back down and continue reading. Damned stomachache will just have to take care of itself, because I'm done! Bah, humbug (It is Christmas day, after all).

At Last: Five minutes later, little brother walks in with a plate laden with Pizza Hut's super-aromatic Chicken Tikka Personal Pan Pizza and a Pepsi. As the pungent aroma fills the room, I think it is just not my day because the stomachache has not only tortured me the entire day, but also stopped me from having pizza. Suddenly, the lightbulb above my head that was dimmed due to lack of ideas is lit again! The pungent aroma is making me feel, not hungry... Nauseous! Hallelujah! Little brother is startled, possibly considering moving out permanently from this madhouse as his older sister jumps on him and demands to 'smell that pizza!'. He, of course, due to reflexes and many years of practice, is ready to defend his food. "I don't want to eat it, you ass! I just want to smell it!". Do you blame the boy for not buying that? Eventually, though, a large whiff of the pizza is achieved and it induces almost immediate strong nausea. It's a Christmas miracle, it is! One short but intense barfing session later, all is right with misha and her good friend, the tummy and it's off to sleep.