I have been trying, genuinely, to stick to my low carb, really strict diet. It’s not horrible; it just takes effort that I generally don’t put into, like, anything…but I was doing okay. There have been some rough patches where I decided to fat girl swan dive into sugar saturated anything. I have this self-destructive streak that ensures as soon as I see any results (like the fat waddle under my chin shrinking and a jawline kinda peeking out) I immediately have cravings so intense it’s physically painful.
Thanksgiving was rough. I went wild. Like, hog wild growled if anyone touched my food, or got near my food, or walked into the room while I was sticking my head in the feeding bucket. I told myself when we got back to TN I’d get back into my groove.
We got back late on Sunday and when Mancandy offered to order delivery I was completely on board. One last Harrah before reining in my out of control inner child. Chinese sounded good after gorging on Turkey and stuffing.
I was hungry so even though it did not taste amazeballs, it was what I had, so I stuffed it down my gizzard. It was a disappointing Harrah. Mildly sad, I unpacked, sorted out animal medication and supplies, and glared at Mancandy who was thoroughly enjoying his dish. I do not care to suffer alone.
Keep in mind it tasted like cardboard and I ate every last bit. Tell me that doesn’t indicate a mental issue.
But alas, we had to go back to work so our routine needed to go back to normal. Comfy pj’s, brushed teeth, sleepy time meds down the hatch, and into peaceful slumber we crept. Except right before I was really asleep my stomach moved. Not just a gurgle or blurp either. That sucker moved from its normal location to my throat in a move that made me break into a sweat immediately.
I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I knew it wasn’t good.
I flew into the bathroom and through the door to the “water closet” at lightning speed. I didn’t stop to grab a trash can. That was a tragic mistake on my part. Of course, our trash can has little cut-outs so it wouldn’t have been great, but I digress.
I honestly didn’t know what to do. Kneel? Sit? WHAT IS GOING ON AND WHERE IS IT GOING TO COME OUT! I was drenched in sweat, everything hurt, and I was insanely nauseous but did not trust that I was safe to assume puking would be the only fun I’d have. I decided I’d rather clean up puke, so I sat.
I pictured the scene from aliens where the wee little alien protrudes through the ribs. In my mind, it would be bursting from my gut. I was about to open the door and grab a towel from the stupidly tiny towel closet when I heard a throat clear.
Mancandy was in the bathroom! Code red! This is NOT a drill!
I’m dripping sweat and cramping like my guts were in a vice grip. This was about to be real ugly real fast. He needed to leave.
“Um, are you okay?”
I went into a coughing fit that ended in a gag, and a weird “glurp” sound I’ve never made before.
I can hear him shuffling his feet and breathing his not sweaty normal breath.
“Can you just throw a towel down outside the door? I think I’m going to be sick.” Understatement. Such a massive huge gigantic ridonculous understatement.
“Can I do anything to help?” He was being so nice. I doubled over on a particularly vile cramp and my body flashed hot and cold at the same time. My mouth was doing that gross drooling yet dry thing that happens right before you puke.
“No. Thanks. Oh god, I can’t talk, it’s go time.”
And it was.
I will spare you the details, mostly so I can keep a tiny amount of my pride intact.
But it was bad. So very, very bad.
I basically exploded.
There wasn’t room for embarrassment in the middle of it. I was just trying to survive.
There are little adorable frogs that puke up their guts, shovel out whatever offends them, and swallow their stomach back into the correct location.
I envied them. Desperately.
The violence of the episode ensured it was fairly short-lived. However, the after party meant I had to brush my teeth over and over, a quick sink bath to be less sweaty and gross, and then pass through the bedroom to get to the cleaning supplies and mop (it was a war zone).
He was sitting on the bed. I felt it was my duty to warn him, “Don’t go in there.” We blinked at each other.
He finally said, “That was really loud.”
I immediately blushed so hard my ears turned to fire and the shame made me wish to melt through the floor into a swampy mess of monster downstairs.
Side note: I inherited my Dad’s natural defense mechanism, involuntary scream puking! It’s a great party trick. Think puking, but while you’re heaving up your guts you scream out your rage. Involuntarily. Just BLAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGGG at the top of your lungs.
He’d never been exposed to that little quirk. He was startled. I didn’t know what to do. I nodded and went to get cleaning supplies. I was walking as quickly as I could through the room on the return trip, dreading the job ahead, and he cleared his throat again.
“I don’t even really know what just happened. I thought you were trying to die politely without bothering me but I couldn’t stay and listen to….that. I didn’t know humans could make those….noises”.
How does one respond to that? I just went into the bathroom, slammed the door, and tried to get through as fast as possible. I may never eat Chinese food again.
By the time I got everything cleaned up I was cold and everything hurt. I did not want to go back out to the bedroom. I didn’t want to talk to him. I was pretty sure we probably shouldn’t talk ever again. You don’t come back from that. I’m a swamp monster at best, but listening to a swamp monster blarg is probably on a totally new level of not good.
I contemplated crying, it seemed like the correct response (very girly), but it was too much effort and I couldn’t spare what little water was left in my body. I kept my face down and shambled to the bed, crawling in on my side and staying as far away from him as possible. Humiliation doesn’t cover what just happened. I may have PTSD. He probably does too.
I could just feel him wanting to talk to me. I curled up, tried to shrink my giant self into a smaller form, and prayed he’d just fall asleep.
“Did you know there’s some kind of frog that pukes up its own stomach?” he murmured from the other side of the bed.
I couldn’t help but smile. I muttered that I had been jealous of them a little bit ago.
“Dear God that was so loud,” he said.
“Shut up” I replied.