The writer’s chequered past includes an afternoon of caffeine delirium.

IF you were to ask me if I would voluntarily stick a piece of rubber hose up my bottom and then shoot a large quantity of brewed coffee (body temperature, of course) into my colon, I would probably snort at the idea and ask you what you’d been smoking.

Coffee is for drinking; ideally, it should not to be dribbled into any bodily orifice other than your mouth.

Hundreds of years ago, when the Ethiopians first stumbled across the energizing properties of coffee (or so the story goes), it probably didn’t occur to them that their morning cuppa might have curative properties if squirted into their intestines. Had you even suggested it to them, they might have locked up their women and children, and their sheep, for fear that your perversions might stretch beyond kinky coffee rituals.

Time has obviously clouded my memory and changed my mind, because the other day, while I was spring-cleaning my house, I came across a coffee enema kit stashed away at the back of a cupboard.

As soon as I’d removed the paraphernalia from its bag, I laughed aloud – as one does when reminded of an activity that once seemed important, but which now seems entirely improbable.

In an instant, I was transported back in time.

The version of me that had existed more than ten years ago, had not flinched at the idea of experimenting with a do-it-yourself enema kit. That version of me had been more adventurous, more open to trying new things, more accepting of the possibility of failure.

And that coffee enema had been a colossal failure. Both in the execution of it, and in terms of the desired outcome.

I’m sure even the most limited imagination can picture the escapade that unfolded on my bathroom floor as I ineptly attempted to cleanse my colon and my liver and whatever else I had hoped would be purified that day, so I will spare you the details. But at one stage, I did think that perhaps it was my brain that was in need of a good cleansing.

Nonetheless, I hadn’t counted on the slightly stoned feeling I experienced with a litre of high-caffeine, light roast coffee coursing through my insides.

After I’d finished the procedure, I was in such a Zen-like frame of mind that I didn’t give a @#$* about anything.

Got a deadline to meet? Who cares? Deadlines are made to be postponed, I decided.

Have to drive the children to their kung fu class? Who cares? Self-discipline, physical well-being and respect for others are all pretty much overrated.

Need to get dinner ready? Who cares? We have an unhealthy focus on food that can be overcome with a few days on a strict diet. Besides, raw vegetables are good for you.

I lounged around most of the afternoon watching television, laughing at inane lines and transparent plots.

When my children returned from school, they took advantage of the situation to watch television rather than do their homework, and I laughed at the inane lines and transparent plots of their programmes too.

In short, a whole day was wasted on drivel that shouldn’t have been allowed on television in the first place.

Since I had no desire to use my unearthed enema kit again, I wondered what I should do with it. After all, it had only been used once and was, therefore, still in excellent condition.

And before you start saying things like, “How gross! Who would want a used enema kit?” let me tell you that it has been thoroughly sterilised.

I mean to say, if you go into hospital for eye surgery, the scalpel that sliced through your eyeball as easily as if it were a pat of butter was probably used a few hours before to cut away part of an ingrown toenail or a festering sore in a rancid nostril or throbbing haemorrhoid piles.

Of course, your doctor would never tell you where his instruments had been, which is just as well. The less you know about medical recycling, the better.

In the end, I decided to donate my enema kit to a church in my neighbourhood. I know the poor people who benefit from church donations wouldn’t know what to make of such a device, but I figured that if it were to be sold in the church’s charity shop, some of the better-off members of the parish might be tempted to buy it after Sunday worship.

After all, isn’t cleanliness supposed to be next to Godliness?

> Check out Mary on Facebook at www.facebook.com/mary.schneider.writer. Reader response can be directed to star2@thestar.com.my.

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