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Mutiny of the mouth 1

Dear Bradshaw,

Francesca has been giving me a revolting liquid to swallow before bed. I have to clamp my nostrils shut and think about strawberries and ice cream before I gulp it down, and even then I almost barf it up. She calls it “natural medicine” and claims I’ll be faster than a speeding bullet and more powerful than a locomotive if I drink it every day for the rest of my life. It’ll add years to my life, she says. (In which direction, I wonder.) Meanwhile, if it adds years to life, I wonder why everyone doesn’t drink it?

She calls it magnesium or nitroglycerin or something like that. I call it orangutan sweat, horse spit, or something like that. She says I don’t have to drink it if I don’t want to but I drink it because I don’t want the last words I hear to be, “I told you so!”

So I’ve been drinking it for about a month and still can’t leap tall buildings or crush rocks in my fists. On the contrary, I’ve got several canker sores. There’s one on the inside of my upper lip that has been drilling into me for days. The one under my tongue burns like a bee sting. It’s a rebellion, mutiny of the mouth.

Anyway, Shaw, it’s been raining, too, and that doesn’t help. On a good note, we spent the weekend in Germany. We went to Hamburg and Berlin to visit some friends and not only was it fun but I had a nice break from Francesca’s magic potion. Nevertheless, we’re home now and, well, you know what that means. Down the hatch . . .

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  1. francesca says:

    Non so se hai notato che la tortura è finita.
    Ovviamente troverò il modo di rimpiazzarla con qualcosa di più gradevole per il tuo palato: nitroglicerina alle patate o al gelato, ci sto lavorando su!

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