You probably think you know where this is going, and you're probably correct.

I got the flu the other night

(I didn't get the flu shot this year... because of this image.)

It wasn't very pretty and it came on out of the blue at 1:30 AM, but just from one end. You're probably wondering which end I am talking about, so I will tell you, but it will be subtle and in my own fashion.

Anyhow, then I woke up at 4 AM and it was happening again. It was violent, unsettling and fraught with mental anguish.

Sort of like A Clockwork Orange, but faster and more disturbing, maybe more like Kalifornia.

(Skrillex gets the flu sometimes.)

I should mention that while this was happening it was in the dark. I didn't bother to turn the light on because I'm quite familiar with the layout of the bathroom, and I didn't want to disturb my beautiful, sleeping wife.

Then I started throwing up. (See what I did there? All in my own time.)

(Kitties get the flu as well.)

It was not quite that simple, as you might guess. I had to shift positions, but there was the whole ICK factor going on. I reached back, flushed, and then lunged forward to the sink. That was where I retched in the dark for what seemed like a minute while the other side of the washroom "freshened up".

That was when the full-blown puking started. I think that holding it back for that minute must have really built up pressure. I was all hunched up and just letting it fly. I heard my wife running from the bedroom and asking if I was okay, but it was really hard to answer her amidst a bout of dry heaves.

That's when the light turned on.

I was horrified. Nobody needs to see the person they love the most with their body arched over a toilet bowl and their underwear down around their knees. I think that's painting a prettier picture than it was, because the light shut off almost as fast as it came on and then there was the much dimmer light of an emergency lantern bathing my situation.

(Sometimes even Jesus gets the flu.)

As soon as the last waves had passed through me I collapsed in a heap on the cool floor and made a half-assed attempt at pulling my underwear up on the high side. I remember muttering something about being sorry that she had to see me like this while she wiped the cold sweat from my head with a damp cloth she had moistened.

I don't remember everything she said, but it was all perfect. Soothing and comforting, she nursed me up off the floor and left me there to sort myself out before coming back to bed.

When I got to bed, she had a bucket, cold cloth and a glass of water there for me and rubbed my back until 5 AM when I called my boss and told him I wasn't going to be in. Then we fell back asleep for a couple of hours.

I always knew we had a love that was going to last, but for some reason this seemed to solidify that feeling in an immeasurable way. Obviously it was enough for me to want to write this post and tell you about it.

("That's a serum bottle full of morphine, idiot. Give it here, and hand me my syringe. Teddy's gonna get fucked up. Probably not fucked up enough to not mention those eyebrows though.")

Relating to celebrities

I remember Andy Richter telling a story about his wife shitting on his floor and him cleaning it up. He said that was when she knew she wanted to marry him. Hold on, I'll see if I can corroborate that... Yep, I found it. Here it is:

Ms. Thyre was wearing a necklace with five tiny spoons dangling, indicating five years of marriage. “This is when I knew he was the man for me,” she said. “I was at his apartment, and I was so poor that I was drinking coffee and eating cigarettes–that was my diet. And he’s like, ‘Well, you want to get some dinner?’ And I’m like, ‘Oh, God! Let’s go to Taco Bell!’ because I knew I could get that Value Menu–I could get the most for my money. So I hadn’t eaten for like a week and I ate Taco Bell. The next morning, my sister called me at his apartment, and I got out of bed and I was naked, and I was squatting on the floor, talking to her on the phone, and I started laughing really hard, and I shit on his floor of his apartment, like Hershey syrup. I know, it’s gross. It was, like, liquid shit. This is an example of what we find funny: When I saw that shit was coming out of my naked ass onto his floor of his apartment, I just started laughing and ran to the toilet and sat on the toilet, continued talking to my sister, and I was like, ‘I just shat on the floor!’ and she was laughing and I look over and Andy’s wiping it up. He’s scrubbing the floor! And I was like, ‘Oh, my God, he’s wiping up my diarrhea. He is the most amazing man ever.’ I think that’s when I said, ‘Yes, I’ll marry you.'”
(Excerpt from a George Gurley article in the Observer)

(Awwwww, yeeeah. That's how Teddy do it.)

So there you have it, folks. She has seen me at my worst and didn't run away. She just merely dimmed the lights and looked after me. Like she always does.

Pretend I have some fancy graphics here that tell you about my Bitcoin wallet numbers or something.