Friday, February 05, 2010
I may already be dead and no one has had the nerve to tell me.
I finally stopped throwing up, which is absolutely grand, but now I feel like my eyeballs are too big for my face and at some point, I must have eaten a bowl of Kellogg's Jagged Glassios. I did venture forth to take a shower, but I didn't feel I could commit to going the distance with a hair dryer so my hair looks very much like I imagine it would look if I had dipped it in swan placenta and brushed it with a pot holder.
Yes. Swan placenta.
All I'm saying is I was sick and now I'm technically post-sick, but still feeling like I should be in intensive care somewhere. I'm not the only one. Mr. Man would fall on his face and thank the Lord above if I were to be in intensive care somewhere because that means I would not be here. I reminded him that he promised to love me in sickness and in health, but frankly he's especially focused on the "til death" part at the moment.
In all honesty, I actually wrote our wedding vows because I was so upset at getting married again that I didn't want one single thing to be traditional about the promises we made. I felt it was best to be realistic at that point. Now I can't remember if I even made him promise to love me in sickness and in health OR til death. In fact, I think I wrote something like "I promise to love you until they stop showing reruns of Friends in syndication." I'm also fairly certain there was something about me always having control over the remote, and about making sure we only bought the good paper plates, forever and ever. Amen.
I can't say enough about paper plate quality as it pertains to a long lasting and happy marriage.
Anyway, he's getting up at 0500 hours in the morning and heading out to a ball game to watch his offspring play. Did this game suddenly come up when he couldn't take any more of my being sick? I almost think it did. Have I ever in the history of my 100 years on this planet heard of a ball game at the butt crack of dawn? I have not. Is he making up a lame excuse to get away from my bug-eyed self for some sweet relief? I'm gonna say yes.
Next time I write my own damn vows, I'm putting something in there about being forced to love me when I am sick and mean and smell like swan placenta.
Yes. Swan placenta.
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Labels: Sick Sher.