The experience made me once again recognize the cons to living alone, especially when I happen to be suffering from stomach rot.
As with anything else, there are also perks to my situation.
For example, I don’t have to worry about waking anyone when I am coughing my face off in the middle of the night.
I don’t have to fight with another person to use the bathroom, especially in an emergency.
I can take 11 baths at any hour of the day or night, hog the TV and watch a 17-hour marathon of “Cops” without hearing another person gripe about any of it.
I can absolutely forget about combing my hair and decide to grow dreadlocks.
Because no other human beings share my address, I do not have to worry about checking my clothing for dried vomit.
And since there is no one around to observe my bad behavior, I can also trudge from the couch to the fridge while gagging my head off.
Yep, it is true. Even if the castle is crawling with germs and puke fumes, I am still the queen, and that has to count for something.
Living the female version of “The Lone Ranger” can also backfire, though.
For example, in the wee hours of Saturday morning, I tried to decide if I could possibly drive myself to the drugstore without puking all over my car. In case you didn’t know, I am just not a puke person, even if it is my own.
Other people offer kindness when somebody tosses their cookies. But umm … I am not one of those nice people. If you are going to vomit in my presence, you should know right away that I will immediately bale on you. There is no good reason for both of us to throw up in stereo. Right?
I am as good with nursing care as I am with being a wife. So if you’re sick around me, I will expect you to fend for yourself. Sorry about that.
“How much do you want some 7-Up and saltine crackers?” I asked myself that night. “Do you want these items badly enough to trade the pajamas for clothing?”
It didn’t take long at all for me to decide that the drugstore trip was not worth the effort.
“I cannot go to the store unless I go in my pajamas, with my puke bag in hand,” I sniffed sadly. “And no one in the world deserves to see that.”
Around noon the next day I was once again on my knees in front of the toilet, wishing with all of my nauseated heart that a fairy princess would suddenly appear with a big glass of ginger ale.
By the time I felt better, I finally had a possible plan for how to save myself from dehydration.
Next time I am under the weather I will likely dial a certain number. When I hear, “Will this be pick up or delivery?” I will answer nicely that I would appreciate delivery.
When I am asked what I would like to order, such as the pepperoni special, with thin or thick crust, I will calmly answer that actually, I want to order ginger ale, some crackers and a bottle of aspirin.