Dear stomach: You are not known for giving me heartburn. You and I, we have weathered Texas chili, North Carolina AND Tennessee barbecue, goat enchiladas from the lovely Mexican woman down the road from mom’s house, and deep fried everything from questionable carnies. We have survived and thrived on Sri Lankan curry, even. In Sri Lanka. Why, therefore, do you feel the need now to bitch at me over a bottle of retsina and a few loukomades? Pls to be getting your shit together and remembering your teflon nature.

Love, me.

In other news, this is pretty cool.

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