It was like a scene from Bridesmaids. I wasn't sure what end it was coming out. All of my orifices were weeping.
And, My Lord, kill me now.
The situation was so dire, I had to sit on the throne while puking into a pail.
Thank God it didn't happen earlier when I was at Costco. There would have been a clean up on aisle six.
To think, I got the flu shot.
Didn't matter. As a smarmy nurse might tell me, I got the shot for the wrong strain of flu.
I've never had the flu shot before this year. I only did so because we had a baby coming into the house and didn't want little Skye's life to be put in peril.
I've always thought it was the most pessimistic of actions, getting the flu shot, like buying full term life insurance. Or building a bunker.
Besides, I have the constitution of an elephant, thanks to years of being a journalist aka professional drinker.
I'm not a puker. Haven't paid my respects to the great white yak since I stopped drinking bad Canadian wines with names like Ruby Rouge and Baby Duck and downing shots of Captain Morgan's.
I've had the Hersey Squirts, Wonka's Chocolate Factory, of course.
But I haven't had the gastro-deluxe since I quit drinking beer.
Had both last night. I felt like I'd gone back in time, and I was in residence during Frosh Week.
Boot and toot, you know what I's saying.
But I discovered puking isn't as bad when you haven't had a forty pounder of alcohol. Comes up nice and smooth like a Tim's iced cappucino. with no effect on the esophagus.
Where did this come from? I suddenly remembered we had all ingested great quantities of meatloaf built from pre-packaged beef from Loblaws. I lifted my twirling head and searched the iPhone. Sure enough, Loblaws' ground beef was on the list of culprits that had caused a recent outbreak of salmonella in the Nation's Capital. Surely, that was the cause of it. My whole family had had the meatloaf; my whole family was giving the plumbing a great work out.
After grilling the children, I discovered, in fact, the bug had come to Elmvale Acres via the West End. All of Shyla's family was sick with it on Saturday, Nick brought it here, gave it to Scott who gave it to me. Like an old nursery rhyme! And I'm the old woman in the shoe who didn't know what to do.
I was the last one to get it, and it seems the bug saved the best for last.
Scott and Shyla had it at one end. Nick had it at the other.
Me, I got the two-way, the whole Linda Blair treatment.
Whatever was in my stomach, smelled strongly of tarragon and I'm thinking it will be a cold day in July when I have tarragon again.
Wait...I didn't have anything with tarragon.
On further inspection, it looked like cilantro.
Mixed with oatmeal.
And egg salad.
Clearly, I was hallucinating the tarragon.
Still won't be able to eat it. Not, like, in a decade.
And forget the ground beef. It will be a long time before I have a burger.
Ground beef has, alas, become collateral damage.
In a funny way, I'm glad this happened to me. I makes me grateful for good health.
And the "s" shaped poop.