The water knows. I've learned my lesson.
I went to Tlaxcala this weekend. Up there in the hills there's a spot where the Virgin Mary appeared a few hundred years ago. In the trunk of a tree. Everyone was really excited about it and built a church there. Then, they decided that the water there must be sacred, so they built this little chapel to house the spring water. Anyway, many people hike up the hill with their cups and other vessels to collect water to cure their ailments. I happened to have a sore throat that day and thought, "what the hell!" I took a drink from the spring and a few hours later was doubled up in bed, where I've been ever since. My stomach is in such turmoil that I can't move and can't drink anything without puking. It's as if the water knows that I'm an AWOL Catholic. It knows that I was a smartass to the Deacon in CCD class. And it knows that I frequently made fun of Father Albert's Hungarian accent, giggling every time he said, "And on the TERD day he rose again..." Now it's in my gut trying to prove a point. Anyway, here's a nice foto of the place.