Movie Popcorn Amnesia

Like a siren’s call to unsuspecting sailors, so is movie popcorn to me. That roasty, toasty smell of freshly popped corn. The bag, overflowing in its bounty. The “butter” coating each kernel so it catches and reflects the light just so. The satisfying crunchy texture. The salty goodness tantalizing my taste buds. Yes, it is difficult to resist movie popcorn.

So I eat it. I munch and I devour. My fingers become slick with oil, with a touch of traction provided by the salt. My lips glossy with butter-flavored goodness. Somehow it is easy to lose track of how much I am eating while I am being entertained by the action and dialog on the big screen in front of me. Watch, grab, chew, swallow . . . repeat.

Unfortunately, by the time the credits are rolling, so is my previously happy belly. Somehow, the light, fluffy kernels have turned into rusty lead pellets working their way through my intestines – and not in a nice, orderly way, but in a not nice, disorderly way. The unholy combination of fibrous popcorn absorbing liquid and butter-flavored product greasing my insides serve to disrupt the delicate balance of my gastro-intestinal tract.

I will groan tonight. I shall toss and turn, in a vain attempt to find some comfortable position. A position that will quiet the quite-irritated-on-the-verge-of-being-quite-angry stomach of mine that is rebelling against my movie popcorn indulgence. But alas, alack! No position exists and as I lie curled in a fetal position at the mercy of my aging innards, I will ponder how they no longer possess the ability to take the abuse it would literally have sucked up in its younger years. That is, if I am able to ponder anything at all.

One would think that an intelligent, well-educated individual such as myself would spare myself the agony and skip the movie popcorn. But no, like the true siren’s call, it bids me to chomp anew. Each time, like the first time, I am compelled to answer the call. I settle into my seat in the cool, dark room, snuggling my bag of popcorn close to my heart. I smell the familiar smell and I happily begin stuffing my face . . . four, even five kernels at a time. Like movie popcorn had never upset my stomach before. Movie popcorn amnesia. I’ve got it. I’ve got it bad.