I have a really bad headache today and I think I might “get sick” which is our family’s euphemism for delicately ejecting the contents of one’s stomach into the porcelain receptacle.
Martha would be proud.
Aren’t you glad I waited until after breakfast to post this?
I’m sure Craig is glad to be out of the house this morning because he doesn’t handle “sick” very well. It reminds me of the time early in our marriage when I had to have a little surgery done to remove a crazy benign bone growth on my skull that had it not been removed, would have begun to resemble an antler. Harmless, yes, but I needed to get it off my head because if Craig wondered aloud one more time how many points it was going to be when it got full grown, I was going to have to bag and tag him myself.
I woke up during the surgery (horror), so they had to slip me some extra juice, and by the time I was sewn up and wrapped up, I looked like a patient in the recovery ward in an old World War II movie. And, oh, I was feeling “sick”.
The orderlies loaded me into the passenger seat and Craig slowly began the hour drive home. I closed my eyes and as the first wave of nausea hit me, I looked over at him and said, “I think I’m going to be sick.” Concern crossed his face and I was momentarily distracted by my nausea in gratitude for this man who was to be my friend and life partner and hold my hand through struggles we would bravely face together.
And then he said, “Not in my new car!”
Have a nice day.