“I put onions on my feet to suck toxins out of my body”

I’m obsessed with fashions. Especially the ridiculous ones you know are snake oil and are usually click bait for internet scams. I keep clicking on it. I see “losing three stones in less than a month”, and it takes the strength of a thousand distinguished empires to keep me from clicking my way to false hope. I’m the person who buys the rubber earwax remover and the pillowcase that makes you sleep faster. I am that fool.

If I were alive in the Middle Ages, I would definitely be an alchemist’s assistant. I wouldn’t have the common sense to isolate minerals, but I’d be stupid enough to play the role of guinea pig. It would probably end badly to taste the elixir of life for my master.

When I was growing up, I looked at the Esso Tiger token booklet and thought, “Only four million tokens for a video recorder!” I begged my parents to buy more gasoline. Every time my dad explained that it would cost more gas to buy it than to buy a VCR. I never asked him why we didn’t buy one because I knew we could never afford one. Anyway, I was more intrigued by the idea of ​​it being free. That this unique, life-changing technology could walk into my 1980s two-channel life and say, “Hey Bernard, wait until you see this!”

Basically what I’m saying is that I believe in random magic. I think magicians can kind of make things disappear and levitate on a whim and even though I’m 42, I want magic to exist. That’s why I’m thick enough to believe that putting onions on your toes will suck all the toxins out of your body.

A basic Google search will tell you that the benefits can range from purifying your blood, eliminating toxins, stopping your feet and preventing colds. I don’t suffer from these ailments as far as I know and knock on wood. To balance the scales, most reputable doctors online will tell you that “toxins” don’t work the way we think they do. But it’s not for a medical reason that I wanted to try this miracle cure. The magic for me was going to be the grime.

I know loads of people in my family and social circle who are obsessed with Dr. Pimple Popper and such. There are people (myself included) who have a love-hate relationship with being disgusted. But I just wanted to see if my feet were producing the green bile I’ve seen on thousands of Instagram videos.

I knew if I started cutting onions around the house and tying them to my feet, my wife would go crazy. I wouldn’t blame her. I can stand the smell of onions or garlic. Plus, I had to leave them for eight hours to see a reaction. I had a plan.

Bernard O’Shea. Photo: Moya Nolan

We have a garage which we use as an office. I use it for writing and working. It’s perfect for my needs, and I feel like I’m going to a “workplace”. Getting out of the house these days for anything is a joy, even if it’s to stare at spreadsheets for hours.

A word of warning to my little hideout – it’s cold. I recently discovered that your body can be cozy and snug wrapped in multiple layers of sweaters, but you can get what I like to call “ice types”. This is where your hands are simply impossible to warm up. I know it’s not picking rocks in the winter (which I did) but the irony that every part of my body is comfortable except for the ten digits I desperately need , resulted in emailing the wrong people or sharing my Zoom calls screen because of my shaking numbers. So spending a night in there for my experience didn’t fill me with joy, but rather dread. It would also be impossible as we have three small children who regularly need something around 4am.

But I work long alternate days to juggle childcare. I chose a Wednesday. I had online meetings from 9 a.m. to 12 p.m., and then I had homework due the next day, which meant I wasn’t going anywhere. I would be chained to the office like this or huddled together for at least eight to nine hours. It was my chance.

I sliced ​​an onion about 1mm thick and put it in a washed takeout jar which I kept, especially for my smelly blister procedure. My lunch was not given the same luxury; I just threw it in an old bread wrapper.

As I sat at my desk with a roll of cling film in my hand, I looked up at the ceiling and said, “Come on, magic.” I wrapped the bunions around my feet with the plastic wrap, then covered them with a pair of old football socks. I could see my reflection on the computer screen and I thought, “Oh Jesus, do I look like in a Pilates class?” I’m so stiff it took me about six times to put them on the right. The only thing I noticed when I put them on was the banana smell.

Maybe it was my nose, but I could smell the bananas once I had them on my feet. Do not mistake yourself; I could also smell the onions; it was a strange double concoction. I felt a tingling sensation for about half an hour, but eventually it stopped. Occasionally, my watch would tell me to “get up,” but I had a great excuse to resume my moulting position. Around 5 p.m., I got up and stretched, forgetting that I had tied them to my feet. They had been on for eight hours.

I was like a child on Christmas morning, unwrapping my feet. Unfortunately, no grime, just wilted onions. My feet, however, smelled of…onions.

There was, however, a small ray of magic. My feet felt like they had just taken a walk in the sea – that feeling when they warm up and shine. It was like the feeling when I tried the grounding, almost like a reaffirmation of the foot telling me they need a little more grooming. But for bananas? You can also wrap the skins around your feet. I wonder if they would start to smell like onions?

About Timothy Cheatham

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