Rufus, the four year old, got a nasty case of the stomach flu last Thursday. Despite the case of Clorox, the $12 in Lysol dis-in-fectin spray, and the two boxes of sani-wipes, I was caught by the beast on Saturday night, all night, in strangely precise three hour increments. Could this be karma payback for taking Ba'hai's name in vain?
Sunday morning, I felt like I had been hit by a truck, so when Rufus came bouncing into my room declaring his intent to invite the neighbor kids into our yard to play (in true 24-hour bug fashion, he was completely recovered and refreshed from his Hollywood-style digestive roto-rootering), I croaked at him from under the pillows, "Mommy was sick all night last night, just like you were before. Go play outside and let me sleep." Thankfully he agreed and ran out the door.
As I was blissfully slipping back into post-traumatic oblivion, I heard this small child through the open window. He had run out to the end of the driveway and was screaming in his best you-could-hear-me-over-an-erupting-volcano voice: "YOU CAN'T COME OVER! MY MOM WAS THROWING UP ALL NIGHT AND SHE POOPED ALL OVER THE PLACE!"
And thus, the small town grapevine was informed.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
GET OUT THE POOPER SCOOPER AND PUT THAT BOY TO WORK!!!!
I got a few annoucements that I would like to make around here - could you please put Mr. Revere on the next Greyhound bus headed west??????
Post a Comment