. . . I did NOT make it upstairs to the bathroom in time. Just when I thought I was done with laundry for today, my body decided otherwise. Those *were* clean jammie pants, donned right after my pre-dinner, shower. I’m sick, I didn’t feel the need to bathe first thing in the morning. Now, I wish I had waited a couple of hours more.
My tummy rumbled and warned me. My husband gagged as I carpet bombed the living room on my way to the couch. “Jesus!” “I know, it’s going to be one of those nights when I need a book in the bathroom.” “Ugh,” was his reply.
I sat down on the couch, prepared to be bored shitless (ha ha ha) with more of the Top Shot marathon that he’s been watching (and I’ve been facebooking) since we woke up this morning (to my hacking and gagging on phlegm – or however that is spelled). No sooner than my cheeks hit the couch cushion . . .
“Uh-oh! Oh no! Oh no!” I rip the power cord out of my laptop, dump my cellphone on the keyboard, grab my bottle of iced tea and attempt to beat the churning to the potty.
Ass: still winning.
Me: back to more laundry as soon (yeah right) as I’m done in here.
Happy Saturday night! Normally this is my Sunday evening pre-work stress explosion. Perhaps I’m getting it out-of-the-way tonight, so I’ll be fine to go out for my mother-in-law’s birthday dinner tomorrow?! *crossing fingers and clenching cheeks*
Oh IBS, MS, how I love the havoc you both wreak on my body constantly. But, it could ALWAYS be worse. I could live in a country with no indoor plumbing.