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sick with guilt

sick with guilt

A bus driver takes his cargo of little kiddies and drives them over 100 miles from their destination. He has a sawed off shotgun in the bus and ends up in a completely different state with 13 distraught children. So is anyone else thinking it's somewhat ironic that the driver's name is Otto?

So I spent the day being sickly, and I don't think it was the dreaded stomach virus. See, yesterday I met a friend for lunch. I had this huge ass sandwich that was stuffed with a million different things. I had a giant basket of fries. And then we had dessert. Something called Strawberry Tallcake. This wouldn't be so bad, as I usually don't eat that much in a sitting. But when I got home, Justin had obviously spent all day slaving away, making a 3 course dinner. I had to eat it. Even though my stomach was complaining about lunch and I felt like I swallowed Rush Limbaugh whole. Even though I had never been so un-hungry in my life. Because that's the kind of girlfriend I am. The kind that would not want to hurt someone's feelings when they devoted an entire day to making you dinner. I ate. And ate. Because he is the kind of guy that will stand there watching you eat if he cooked dinner. He will interpret your gestures and the faces you make, he will ask a million times if you like it and he will pout if you add salt. So I just smiled and chewed and swallowed. Now I felt like I had swallowed both Rush and Drew Carey.

So it's no wonder I woke up feeling like I had Operation Enduring Freedom going on in my body. And I had to spend all day pretending to Justin like I had a virus because I didn't want to tell him it was his dinner that caused me to heave all over the house. He pampered me as he always does when I'm sick and waited on me hand and foot and now I feel so overwhelmingly guilty that I'm just going to pack it in and go to bed before he says "are you ok? do you need anything?" one more time.


Some people's kids. I tell ya'.

I'm glad those kids got found - the last article I saw had them as still missing.

And - the food - damn. No words, babes. Ouch.

Michele, are you ok? Do you need anything?

Anything at all, just ask, okay?

I've got some nice chicken noodle soup here, it'll make you feel better, now eat it all up. I made it just for you with my own arthritic hands even though both of my arms are in casts and the swelling in my legs is worse than ever because of having to take the bus that day you were too busy with your own life to take me to the hospital for my cardiogram, but I'm not bitter, I know your life is more important than mine and that's all right, here, eat this nice chicken soup that I made for you even though I can't eat any myself because of the diabetes I picked up from starving myself to feed you from the day you were born.

settles down in chair by bedside, coughs wetly on pillow

Isn't it nice to have a little visit?

I'm so glad I moved out of Rockville. Every time something like this goes down in Maryland, that's where they send the noodleheads. (FYI - I used to live down the street from a drug/alcohol rehab center and a mental institute. No lie!)

Bill, where did you get those martyring skills? Have you been hanging out with my mother?

I've always said I was a yenta by nature, if not by birth.

I have Project Enduring Flu Bug over here. I was well until ... a large sandwich and fries. Hmmmmm.

Thought of you when I saw the schoolbus story. Oy. Thank God the kids are safe.

Hello, have fun with easy blogging!