Trust me, Lunatic, it was no test. I lost five fucking pounds last night. And by the way Greg, thanks for all the sympathy. Gee, I pour my fuckin heart out yesterday and then my fucking guts out last night and all I get from you is, "You're always friggin' sick"?? Teenagers. Hmmph.
(There, how's that for snappy reparte, Kool Cathy?)
To the rest of you, thanks for the well wishes. I can date our illness (yes, PHF has it too, and like a typical man, he is waaaaaay worse, of course.) to the barfing bonanza that Monkey embarked upon Saturday night up at the lake. Her bed, my bed, every-fucking-where. (Another little-known law of parenthood is that your bed will be barfed upon a minimum of three times per child, not exceed 1000 times, and that you will have no replacement sheets available and so you will sleep - well, try to rest - with said quivering mass of sweaty child on your bare mattress, hoping and praying to some nameless god(s) that they don't barf right on the mattress because how in hell do you clean that up???)
It made for a lovely evening, and we even had houseguests (Bree and Speed Racer and two kiddos) and Bree already has it. Actually the rest of the weekend was a blast, snowmobiling and sledding and tubing on major hills, and tons of snow, and massive quantities of liquid gold. So there.
As for today: I'm up, and that's the most I can say about my condition. Don't know how long it will last. Oh, and I ate a piece of toast. So far so good. Yea.