The stomach bug hit our house this week– hard.
It was gross, you guys— so gross. I know that men are supposed to be big weenies when it comes to illness but, in our house, I am the weenie.
The big. Fat. Weenie.
While Greg took care of himself and suffered with dignity, I was moaning (yes, moaning) in bed under the strong conviction that this– this was how I was going to die. I called my mom at work to tell her how miserable I was. I made her listen as I catalogued each and every one of my disgusting symptoms. I moaned some more. I relinquished all self-respect.
I planned to write a far more interesting post today but, circumstances being what they are, I thought you might appreciate some cutie-patootie photos from earlier in the week– rather than photos from today, which would primarly include shots of me weeping and gnashing my teeth. I call these photos the calm before the storm (and by storm I mean barf-a-palooza 2014).
I hope this post has made you feel sufficiently sorry for me.