I'm never eating crab cakes again.
After dodging the raging stomach flu that obliterated everyone else in the house last week I was feeling pretty good about avoiding the "Great Sickness of '08".
Ang and I went out for dinner Saturday night, watched a movie and enjoyed the peace and quiet of a house with no children for the evening. Feeling fine and looking forward to the next 2 days off I went to bed Saturday night and slept like a baby.
Until about 6 am Sunday morning when I woke up feeling like somebody was stabbing my stomach with a rusty meat cleaver. Still, I got up, took a shower, and we were about 10 minutes from heading to church; at least we were until I felt the tremendous urge to get the bathroom ASAP.
I spent the next 8 hours or so either in the bed or the bathroom praying God would just let me throw up so I'd feel better. I was in the shower at about 6:15 last night when he finally granted my wish.
The moral here is be careful what you pray for; sometimes you get it.
The Crack Of Doom
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