Jason is sick.
Jason? Never gets sick. Well, hardly ever. I can count on one hand the number of times he's been ill in the almost nine years that I've known him.
Last night he went to bed around 8pm. He didn't get up this morning until about 9am. He requires about six hours of sleep, as a general rule.
And? This morning? He told me several times that his stomach hurt.
I've been trying to work all day today. I'm on huge deadlines for about twenty different projects. I really, really, REALLY need to get certain things done by Friday. My manager said I could work as much overtime as I needed to get it done (yay, I guess), so I've been spending long nights and weekend hours trying to catch up. Because believe me. At my office, I cannot go twenty minutes without an interruption. Ever. And what I've been working on requires me to actually concentrate. I am not good at concentrating.
Throughout the day, as I've been sitting here at my little desk, trying to check things off my to-do list, my husband has periodically shouted, "Chick! Can you come help me please?"
The first time? Was so I could help him shave his back.
Good. God.
The second time? Was because my daughter was cleaning up her room and he wanted me to make sure that everything she was throwing away was actually supposed to be thrown away.
Okay.
The third time? Was so I could praise Boy Child for what a good job he did cleaning his room.
Sigh.
By the fourth time he was saying, "Chick! Can you come help me please?" I was feeling a bit exasperated.
I walked into the bedroom and he was sitting on the bed, covered in sweat.
"Yes?" I asked.
And then? The smell hit me.
THE SMELL.
THE DISGUSTING VOMIT SMELL.
He threw up all over the bathroom.
All. Over. The. Bathroom.
Oh my dear Lord, it was so, so wrong.
He said, as I was knee-deep in the vomitous sludge, "I owe you one". And then, he fell asleep.
He owes me so many more than one.
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21 comments:
I say twenty-seven. Not one. Definitely twenty-seven.
Huge, huge sympathies comin' atcha from way up North.
Oh noes! Poor Jason. POOR CHICK. I'm sorry that Jason is sick. I hope he gets well soon.
Oh NO! I hope you don't get it. Stay away... stay far far away...
yikes!!! i hope you didn't puke cleaning up the puke!! i probably would've!!!
hope he feels better soon!! (for your sake!) :)
ewwwww ewie ewie eww.
With all you have going on this week, it may be best for Jason to sleep on the porch. The fresh air will be good for him. And, this can count as one of the 27ish he owes you :)
Oh no! Poor you! Poor Jason! Sending good thoughts your way! :)
Well, on the positive side, at least it's just coming out of one end...
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Next, time, he gets to shave YOUR back. That'll teach him.
1. Eating my lunch while I read that - bleech!
2. He WAY owes you for shaving his back and cleaning up the puke.
he truly fell asleep???
toooo funny!!
He owes you flowers, a spa day & serious jewelry. Ugh. Poor Chick.
You are a way better wife than I could ever be!
(Though I'll never understand how a fully grown adult can completely and entirely miss the toilet. I mean, it's not like you don't KNOW the barf is coming... Preparation, people.)
You are truly amazing.
My kid's dad put me into labor the night before my younger boys birth by hurling all over the bathroom at 3am, I had to get up and clean it (otherwise can you imagine how hard it would have been the next day?). I had my son 12 hours later.
Oh. Chick. If I knew where you lived, I would personally hire you a maid for the day as a present. I hope you get your work done. And I hope the vomit stops!
O.K., now- I have never known a grown adult (who wasn't drunk) who couldn't make it to the toilet. What is that about?
OH god! I so would have been puking as I was picking it up!! I agree with everyone else..HE OWES YOU BIG TIME!
Oh, no - how can a grown man MISS the toilet?!!! He's right - he owes you BIG time!
So. Many. More. Than. One.
*faints*
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