On My Birthday Eve, I was heaving my innards out for the first time since getting married.  I guess my leftovers for lunch were older than I thought.  We went over to visit friends, and my stomach was just aching.  A little before we left in a hurry (this is an example of foreshadowing!), our lovely host (who had just the most adorable beaglish puppy) offered us daiquiris.  Translation: delicious fruit slush with sprite.  Because we were driving.  And . . . I don’t know.  I requested just the soda, for my stomach, and sipped it for a bit.  Then I requested directions to the bathroom, went, peed, and promptly had to turn around and vomit into my own pee water at my husband’s ex-girlfriend’s parents’ house. Just let that sink in there for a minute.  It splashed on my face. The only way for me to get away from the supreme horror of this memory is to inflict it on others.  Hi Uncle!  Hi Aunt!  Love you!  After vomiting up everything I’d consumed in the previous say, six hours, and damn if part of my brain didn’t keep track and tick off each meal, there’s the chicken strips, yup, cranberry juice, aaaand there’s the rice casserole from lunch, I stared at my red face in the mirror and kept saying, “okay, okay, okay, okay.”  Then I went back to the living room and explained we needed to go home forthwith.
“Uh, why, honey?”
“Because I just vomited profusely in the bathroom.”
Frozen smiles on all faces.
“Ohhhhh. . . .okayyyy.”
Went home, tossed cookies once more, and then slept horribly all night having bizarre dreams that bad things would happen if I changed my sleeping pose.  The next day, at work, maybe two people asked if the vomiting indicated pregnancy, so i spent the rest of yesterday, my birthday, paranoid that it was evening sickness and double-checking each sensation of my innards to see if I was symptomatic again.  Also, I yakked so hard I asploded a capillary in my eye.
Ewwwww but cool.
But I didn’t lose it again last night, so yay!  Not pregnant!  Happy Birthday to me!