Hello, Failure

Of all the enemies of literature, success is the most insidious

Thursday, March 11, 2004

Failure of the Day: Ahh, Coupledom. You Are Perhaps Familiar with Tag Team Stomach Flu?

We needn't have bothered buying any groceries at all for this week; Chris wasn't on solids until last night. I caught it yesterday and at the moment, 7-UP is just a little more than I can tolerate; don't even ask what happened after I experimented with a few Saltines last night.

We thought it was food poisoning at first. Chris got it on Sunday night and bore the brunt. Now I can read my future in his face—I know what shades of green to expect and when. He could only tolerate soup after a full 48 hours so I'm assuming I'll be fasting again today. That sounds just fine; I actually can't remember what hunger feels like. It's not that it's been so long; it more that the current feeling in my stomach obliterates the memory of all other sensations.

Needless to say, we are a sexy, sexy couple just now. Between Chris following me into the bathroom every 45 minutes to hold back my hair and wipe my forehead with a damp washcloth (no kidding, he's that good), the hourly inquisitions into the state of each others' bowels, and getting so exhausted from brushing my teeth that I need a nap, we are big time party people. Ugh.


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