|I found this creepy New Year's Baby -- selling lumber, no less -- in our|
January 1916 archives. It takes someone much stronger than me to pass
this kind of thing by.
I had a roommate in college who liked to joke that partying hard on Saturday night meant she'd be praying to the porcelain gods* Sunday morning. I could never figure out why you would do something on purpose to yourself that would ultimately leave you hurling in the bathroom, but I've always been a bit too practical, which is why that element of college was lost on me.
All of this is to say that I was reminded of my roommate Saturday, when I found myself praying to the porcelain gods with frevor.
Without getting too graphic, let's just say that a flu bug of some sort is ripping its way through the house. Johanna came down with it on Tuesday, and I'd hoped that the rest of us would be spared, although that looked pretty unlikely when my stomach started churning Saturday morning. (I went from fine to NOT fine in like an hour. Wut?)
But okay, that still leaves Eric and Abby, right?
Except Eric is on the couch laying down watching football. This wouldn't be alarming except A) Eric NEVER lays down on the couch and 2) Eric actually never relaxes at all -- he's always up doing stuff, even if a game is on.
So it's been one hell of a new year is what I'm saying.
Also: Why did we all get flu shots again? I forget.
*In case it doesn't translate, "praying to the porcelain gods" is a euphemism for throwing up. I think we've all learned something today, don't you?