The Universe has a nasty sense of humor, doesn’t it?

I woke up to Aunt Becky’s version of the stomach flu (I’ll spare you the details), and have been writhing in agony every since. Because not only is my body evacuated of most of it’s contents, but my fucking skin hurts. My aches have aches.

I’d feel sorry for myself, but I’m too sick. When you’re too sick to feel sorry for yourself, you know you’re deep in the shit (literally, now).

———–

You guys are too sweet to The Daver and I. Pretty soon, he’s going to read the comments and get a big (er) head about himself.

I’m going to wrap you each up in a virtual hug (virus free, I hope) and tell you how much I heart each and every one of you (another good sign that I am really sick is how emotional I am right now. See, I can be nice sometimes!) and how much you made my day with your kind words.
(just try not to breathe in when I hug you. I smell like sick).

I hope to be Backstreet’s Back, All Right soon.

*smootches*

Comments

comments

15 thoughts on “Typhoid Becky (deux)

  1. Oh feel better. I can’t imagine that pretty face hanging over a toilet. Or maybe that’s not the end you are referring to.

  2. Oh, Becky, while I’m terribly sorry you’re getting up close and personal with the toilet; I’m more sorry that this is indicative that it’s coming my way. Curses to your sickness…curses!

  3. I hope you feel better soon! I hope you have someone to help with the boys when the Daver is at work.

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