As I was brushing my teeth this morning, I noticed a brown bottle with a purple label sitting on the bathroom counter. Most of you probably wouldn't have noticed this, much less minded it; however, what the bottle contained is my arch-nemesis. Peroxide.
A few years ago on the 4th of July, I celebrated America's Independence like any other 24 year old would. I went to a couple of pool parties, zip-lined from the woods into one of those pools, drank a few beers, grilled out, and then went home, where I promptly passed out and went to sleep.
I woke up in the middle of the night super thirsty and dehydrated. I reached in the darkness for the bottle of Evian on my nightstand and chugged. As soon as the "water" hit the back of my throat, I felt like someone had poured burning acid down my throat. I threw the water down, reached for the lamp and stared in horror. I had just chugged about 1/4 of a huge bottle of Peroxide. I slapped my boyfriend at the time numerous times to get him to wake up. "I just drank Peroxide!" I screamed. He laughed. "No, seriously!"
I'm frantically searching the bottle for Poison Control's phone number, or instructions saying to drink water, milk, something...he gets online and starts reading online threads about people who drink Peroxide to clean their systems out. I am now foaming at the mouth-literally. He finally calls the Poison Control center and has a good laugh with the guy manning the phones that night. "You can't drink water," he says. "And you might be foamy for a few days...".
So, I know you're wondering why I would have a huge bottle of Peroxide hanging out on my nightstand, right? Well apparently, I had cut myself earlier in the day while zip-lining and had used the Peroxide to clean my cut. Instead of going and putting it away, I was lazy and set it on the nightstand right next to a 1-liter bottle of Evian. Both had a domed top, and approximately the same sized lid. It was easy to mistake the two while half-asleep.
Let's just say that I now get sick at the sight of a bottle of Peroxide, and just thinking about it still gives me the chills. I can't even put into words how much it burned going down my throat, or how foamy it was after the fact. I don't even buy Peroxide anymore and refuse to use it on any cuts or scrapes. My current boyfriend knows this, and I swear the bottles of Peroxide I find under the bathroom sink (or on it, in this case) seem to be multiplying like rabbits. I hope he finds this funny, because I sure as hell do not.
Until next time,
Freeway Fairington
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