Last week I was supposed to attend a golf outing with some associates. I was totally looking forward to showing off my super bad golfing skills. You know, from that one time I golfed. Two years ago. Hey, at least I could hit the ball. I did much better than even B expected. Although he wasn't there to witness it. So wise.
In any event, despite borrowing some ladies' golf clubs (not using the way too big for me golf clubs of yesteryear) and planning out my outfit (I am a dork), I was ready to go. Then, without any warning, a hurricane of sickness blew in and quite literally swept me off my feet. Despite all of the medications I inhaled that morning, I just couldn't do it. One symptom would ease and another would begin. The thought of golfing while ill in 90 degree weather made me, well, ill. So I bailed. And I felt bad.
How do I know this? Well, because after arriving home from work, B found me sleeping on the bathroom floor. Maybe with my head by the toilet. I don't know. All I know is I found it cool and relaxing and it made me feel less sick. It also made B remark:
"Hey there party girl! When's the last time you found yourself in such a position?"
Probably when my appendix was acting up, actually.
Oh, but the fun didn't stop there. When we were getting ready to go to sleep that night (my third time sleeping that day), B made sure to ask me if I was going to sleep in our bed or in Jersey's bed (the bathroom floor).
Such a sympathetic hubby I have.