Eclair-related Childhood Trauma

This post was published more than a few years ago (on 2011-12-02) and may contain inaccurate technical information, outmoded thoughts, or cringe takes. Proceed at your own risk.

I was visiting my great grandmother (Nennie) in Portsmouth, NH, and my Uncle Jon was there, and he and I went out to the local bakery and brought half a dozen eclairs back for dessert.

I was maybe 8 or 10 at the time. Somewhere in there.

And I had one, and it was delicious. Probably should have had half, but no, I ate the whole damn thing.

And then I kinda felt woozy later, but my mom dismissed it as too much sweets. And so I went to bed on the little travel mattress in the floor of the drawing room, just off the main living room, where I was staying the night (gorgeous, big old house — I once dreamed I’d buy it back into the family someday, but I doubt that will ever happen).

And then, about a half hour after I went to bed, with almost no warning, I threw up, all over my pillow and bed and pajamas and hair.

I remember it vividly.

So, even now, 25-30 years later, I become slightly nauseous even looking at an eclair.

[And now, to wait for my mother to read this, and tell me how I’m remembering it all wrong.]