Begging your pardon.

Even the most mediocre of us will do at least one great thing while on earth. It might be something that gains widespread recognition, or it might be as small as having a conversation with a random at a wedding that really has an impact on their life.

My great moment came a little over a month ago.

The Event occured while I was still living in Belgium. A’s mother had come to visit, and so we all trooped off to spend a day touristing around Brussels. After lunch, we came to the part of the day that I was truly excited about, and the only thing that had guaranteed my enthusiastic participation in the outing. We went to a chocolate factory where they offered unlimited tastings.

Unlimited. Belgian. Chocolate.

However, when we arrived at the factory, something strange happened. Something unheard of. Something that could only herald a coming disaster of apocalyptic proportions.

I didn’t feel like eating chocolate.

Insert screaming face emoji here.

Don’t get me wrong, I tried. I tried valiantly to live up to the expectations that I would go all Tazzie Devil on the place, but I just couldn’t. I felt strange and unwell, and the overwhelming smell of chocolate was making me feel nauseous. Never have I been more disappointed in myself.

After we headed back to the city I suggested we all walk through the park towards the Royal Palace, thinking some fresh air might help my general feeling of blergh. It didn’t. As we reached the Royal Palace, I had the horrid realisation that I wasn’t just feeling blergh. I was feeling really really blergh. I turned to A with panic in my eyes and said “We need to find a bathroom or something soon, I’m not feeling ok.” But as he turned to tell his mum that we had to go, it happened.

I vomited.

Spectaularly.

Twice.

Right into the gardens of the Royal Palace.

And as I stood hunched over the fence, overcome by mortification, I looked up at the Belgian flag flying proudly on the roof and said:

“I’m really sorry, I meant no disrespect.”

And that ladies and gentlemen, is the real reason that I had to leave Belgium. I’m on the run from the authorities.

But the Belgian King can give up the hunt, I’ve already received my punishment. It’s depressing to realise that at 28, I will never in the rest of my life do anything awesome enough to top this story.

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