The Magic Wand of Magnesia

(A Tale of Terror, Triumph, and Unscheduled Velocity)

I don’t know what, precisely, Milk of Magnesia is made of, but I’m fairly certain it was discovered after someone dropped a pebble into a volcano and said, “Ah yes, this will definitely rearrange the internal architecture of a human being.”

Whatever its ingredients, my digestive system reacts to it as though it’s a medieval torture device disguised in a friendly blue bottle.

When I was a child, my mother kept a wooden spoon—a large, formidable specimen—hanging in the kitchen. She used it for cooking, yes, but also for discipline, crowd control, and maintaining general domestic order. She claimed it was her magic wand.

And honestly? She wasn’t wrong. The mere act of waving it in the air could silence an entire room of noisy children. If Hogwarts had any sense, they would’ve added her to the faculty.

Fast-forward to adulthood, where my mother’s spoon has been replaced by something far more sinister: Milk of Magnesia.

My current medications have slowed my elimination down to the pace of a sloth on a hot day — and not a motivated sloth, either. A unionized one. A sloth who takes breaks from taking breaks. Occasionally, I require outside intervention.

Which brings us back to the blue bottle of doom.

Someone in the family had helpfully returned the last empty bottle to the cupboard — a domestic war crime, in my opinion — so I bought a fresh one at the store. All I did was carry it home and set it on the kitchen counter when, WHOOSH!

The sloth became a leopard.

A highly motivated leopard.

A leopard that had heard a starter pistol and was off to the races.

I didn’t even open the bottle.

Didn’t read the label.

Didn’t measure out a dose.

Simply being in its proximity apparently activated a level of intestinal urgency normally reserved for disaster movies and roller coasters.

This stuff is so magical, it works by osmosis of fear.

The threat alone is enough.

Honestly, if my mother had replaced her wooden spoon with a bottle of Milk of Magnesia, we’d have vacuumed the entire house voluntarily and apologized for things we hadn’t even done yet.

At this point, I think I can safely say:

I no longer need to take Milk of Magnesia.

I merely need to acknowledge its presence like a deity of swift judgment.

Hahaha!