Yes, dear readers, a tale of depravity, rapine, and even VOMITOLA….
I will begin by noting that I am in an upright position today, and rather puffed up with pride about the whole affair. You see, boys and girls, I had what is known in the business as a “sinus and middle ear infection.” That means my head was filled with a noxious goop from stem to stern, and my doctor had a moment of mirth making me try to move my eyes to follow her little light pointer (I turned green and could not oblige, as a simple head moment could have spelled spontaneous spillage!).
So the upshot is that I have a variety of medical miracles at my disposal. I was bucking for an MRI, but I seem to have netted some antibiotics and some anti-nausea stuff which works great except that it puts me to sleep within minutes. So I should have another ten minute window here, do pardon me if I trail off!
And I must say, who knew that 2 days off from work could be so interminably boring? Actually I also left early on Monday as I started dry heaving everytime I looked at the screen. I felt really bad about leaving too, because people had to do some work I was trying to finish. Anyway, I walked home through the Public Garden in kind of a zig-zag pattern. There weren’t any cabs in sight, and I figured barfing in the garden would be nothing new for me, so why despoil the T? I made it all the way up to Louisburg Square. I don’t know how familiar anyone is with that area of Beacon Hill, but it’s sort of a really lame answer to Gramercy Park. There’s about a 30 square foot area of fenced in trees and grass, and some plum parking spots. Only people who live in the nice houses right there may touch the fancy foliage. So of course that’s where the dry heaves took me over!
After that, I teetered back to my house. At least I didn’t get arrested for holding onto the wrought iron PRIVATE fence. An attractive older British fellow asked if I was OK. I wanted to assert that I was not simply a drunken prostitute (a – I was not carrying an umbrella b – we were nowhere NEAR the docks)…but all I could do was mumble something like “mrphhh yeah….”
At any rate, I return triumphantly, er, sort of. At least the room stopped spinning! I think my dr. was disappointed I didn’t have menningitis or something sexier. Thanks to Lambchop for brilliantly holding down the fort in my infirmity. Maybe I should give her Power of Attorney too! Although she’d probably just sign me up for a bunch of magazine subscriptions or government studies.
Also, I exhort you all to make use of the services of Kitty Winn! She’s a firecracker, she’s a pistol, she’s a former Miss Omaha. As you can see, her advice is top-drawer, just like her rack.