Sometimes there's no going back.

 

I had a really great weekend.  Jeff and I went out to a nice Valentine's dinner.  I got an awesome Valentine's Day present (more on that in a later post). I got some chores around the house done.  Jeff replaced the outside flood lights that we haven't been able to get to for weeks because of the weather.  And the weather?  The weather itself was pretty awesome.  Considering that we had an ice storm on Wednesday...the fact that I got to do my grocery shopping in shorts on Sunday was really nice.

 

I had us all locked and loaded for the upcoming work week.  I even had our LUNCHES packed for the next day, that's how together I was  And then it happened...

 

I spent midnight 'til 4:00 am in the throes of a heinous roto-stomach-virus...allegedly (by me) conjured from the bowels of Hell.  I threw up in three different beds.  Jeff and the animals retreated downstairs to the living room after my initial bout...I assume due to the God-awful inhuman sounds I was making from the Master bathroom.  It was a full-on total digestive tract virus...not to put too fine a point on it.

 

I drug myself to the spare room where, an hour and a half later, the whole process repeated itself.  There was no getting to a waste basket or toilet...the act of sitting up actually triggered the retching.  I called downstairs for assistance...by this time I had made it to the hall bathroom.  Jeff brought me clean PJs, some Immodium and unmade the second bed.  The dogs and cats huddled at the bottom of the steps, waiting to see if he came back or if the warthog/demon hybrid they could hear had gotten him too.

 

And so the night progressed.  He came to check on me in the morning...and I could tell it was over.  I felt wrung out from the inside.  Totally dehydrated.  Poor Jeff was exhausted and I'm afraid, a little shell-shocked.  Whatever feminine mystique I had re-cultivated after he watched me give birth 18 years ago was totally obliterated.

 

Also? I had left a vomit-soaked mountain of bedding behind me.  Jeff gamely gathered up our lovely down duvet, two more mundane comforters and three sets of sheets and two blankets and drove to the laundromat.  After running to the store and getting me several gallons of Gatorade.

$18 in quarters and a couple of hours of talking to the crazy old man in the coin laundry and he was back with our stuff.

 

Apparently, there are some things in life that you can't undo...and puking all over your 800-thread count Egyptian cotton, down-filled duvet is one of them:

 

Large blob above is the duvet when he brought it home.

No, that's not a badly distorted dead body underneath it...those are clumps of sad, sad downy softness.

There is no fixing this hot mess.

 

Looks like there is a trip to Bed, Bath and Beyond in my future....and lots of praying to GOD that Jeff doesn't come down with this vile, evil bug himself.