Saturday: I go out for drinks with Jen. A couple of hours and three martinis later, I head home to bed feeling nothing more than a little buzzed.

Sunday morning: I wake up to let the dog out. As I’m opening the door I realize I need to run to the bathroom. Immediately. Seconds later, I’m dry heaving over the toilet, alternately thinking “I’m going to die” and “I’m really glad I clean my toilet”. Just before I pass out on the couch covered in sweat and slightly dizzy, I wonder how three martinis could make me so sick, especially when I didn’t even get sick in Vegas.

Sunday afternoon: I wake up to my phone vibrating from a text. It’s Jen telling me to come over. We have plans to play tennis. I sit up and realize I feel fine. I spend the day shopping, getting something to eat and hanging out and spend an hour working up a good sweat playing tennis. On the way home from the courts I start to feel dizzy.

Sunday evening: I make it home just in time to run back to the bathroom. Instantly regret drinking that strawberry smoothie.

Monday morning: I’m dreaming I am trick-or-treating with a group of friends. (What?) In the dream I tell someone to wait for me, I’ll be right back. I start to run. I wake up suddenly and realize my dream was trying to tell me something. I run to the bathroom. I come back to bed and wake up Michael for sympathy. He rubs my back and I think it’s worth it to be sick if I can stay right here with him.

Late Monday morning: Have come to conclusion that I have a bug. Am lying in bed trying to figure out what I can eat. Am praying I won’t get sick again because there’s nothing left in my stomach to come out. Could really use a back massage. Am debating cleaning toilet again. Just in case.

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