Nothing like waking up with vomit in between your breasts . . .
It all started Tuesday night, when Tom, my friend/supervisor, took me and two other girls from work out to eat at Olive Garden. We had a huge meal--appetizers, salad, bread sticks, entrees, chocolate gelato, the works--and had a fantastic time. About halfway through the meal, however, my stomach started feeling a little unhappy. "Oh well," I thought. "I probably just ate too much." And with that we all went back to Meghan's apartment.
So there we were at her apartment, sitting around, joking, chatting, and generally being low key, when my stomach started feeling really REALLY unhappy. I bolted to the bathroom, got sick, and then decided I needed some fresh air. Now here's where my memory gets hazy. Next thing I knew, I was: 1) lying on the living room floor, 2) being cradled in Tom's arms, and 3) had copious amounts of vomit down my shirt in between my breasts. YUCK.
Apparently, I staggered out of the bathroom looking pale and babbling incoherently, then fainted/smacked my head into the wall, then slumped quietly onto the floor. Well, not so quietly. I'm told I started making gagging noises, which is why Tom rushed over to pick me up ("So you didn't asphyxiate on your own vomit, Julia."), which is why he was holding me when I VOMITED ON MYSELF. That's right. My friend/supervisor had an up close and personal look right down my shirt as I vomited onto my breasts. If he wasn't gay before, he certainly would be now. Can you imagine watching that from like three inches away? Eww.
Anyways, I regained consciousness, their hearts started beating again, and they took me home because I didn't want to go to the ER. (I hate the ER.) I spent the next two days sleeping and vomiting and not much else. Not fun.
Maybe it was food poisoning? Maybe it was some weird bug? Who knows? Who cares? It's gone and I finally feel better. And slimmer. So now I must get ready because Colin is coming into town for the evening. Tata.
So there we were at her apartment, sitting around, joking, chatting, and generally being low key, when my stomach started feeling really REALLY unhappy. I bolted to the bathroom, got sick, and then decided I needed some fresh air. Now here's where my memory gets hazy. Next thing I knew, I was: 1) lying on the living room floor, 2) being cradled in Tom's arms, and 3) had copious amounts of vomit down my shirt in between my breasts. YUCK.
Apparently, I staggered out of the bathroom looking pale and babbling incoherently, then fainted/smacked my head into the wall, then slumped quietly onto the floor. Well, not so quietly. I'm told I started making gagging noises, which is why Tom rushed over to pick me up ("So you didn't asphyxiate on your own vomit, Julia."), which is why he was holding me when I VOMITED ON MYSELF. That's right. My friend/supervisor had an up close and personal look right down my shirt as I vomited onto my breasts. If he wasn't gay before, he certainly would be now. Can you imagine watching that from like three inches away? Eww.
Anyways, I regained consciousness, their hearts started beating again, and they took me home because I didn't want to go to the ER. (I hate the ER.) I spent the next two days sleeping and vomiting and not much else. Not fun.
Maybe it was food poisoning? Maybe it was some weird bug? Who knows? Who cares? It's gone and I finally feel better. And slimmer. So now I must get ready because Colin is coming into town for the evening. Tata.