I remember way back when...soon after I moved into my apartment...I mentioned concern at the possibility of puking while living alone. My exact words were " What if I..... get sick in the middle of the night, puking in the pot, and what would I do with nobody there to call out to? Who would hold my hair back? Who would bring me lemon-lime Gatorade and a straw?..."
Unfortunately, that possibility (or inevitability, if you will) has been realized. fulfilled. faced. It happened. It was one of those horrible nights that keeps you awake with fever and wretching and cramping and all other varieties of awful.
In the midst of this event, I found myself disappointed to be reminded that Bridget is, in fact, a useless animal and not the brilliant human daughter that I so often liken her to. Every time I got sick, I actually felt embarrassed because she would just stand in the doorway of the bathroom and stare...big eyed, yet complacent...as if to say "Eww." I felt the need to apologize to her for freaking her out and being so gross. I wanted to yell "I'm sorry! I can't help it!", but my throat hurt too badly. She didn't once offer to hold my hair back or bring me a cold beverage of any kind. In all fairness, she did attempt to make me some hot chocolate (the kind with the mini marshmallows), but who the hell wants that when they're yaking?
After I had returned to my bed after the 5th trip of stumbling around in the darkness...and I was all shaky and shivering from the spiking of my possessive fever...Bridget perched herself on my midsection. I told myself that she was trying to keep me warm, but I really knew better. Every time I looked up at her, she was eyeing me from a sideways glance with her nose crinkled away from me...so that I couldn't breathe on her. The ironic thing is that one morning last week I got out of bed only to stick my heel in the slimy wetness that was her coughed up hairball. How dare she judge me? Anyway, the story ended happily. I called my mom once daylight struck and requested that she come take care of me. And of course she did. She showed up with Sprite and Campbell's Chicken and Stars soup. Sometimes it just feels SO nice to be treated like a 6 year old, doesn't it?
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1 comment:
I hate it that you were sick and I wasn't there to take care of you!!
i hope you're feeling much much better. I'm glad your momma came to take care of you in the morning.
and bridget? well, at least now you have a clear view of who and what she is :-) (i got quite the chuckle while reading your story as it pertained to Bridget and her inadequacies and judgmental behavior :-)
love you!
kristen
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