Um. Yeah. I should know better than to rub it in about really nice days, because it usually bites me in the a$$.
We capped off that awesome day Thursday by ordering pizza--including my favorite, a Pizza Hut Supreme, minus the mushrooms. Mushrooms are evil, and must not pass the Wabbit's lips, lest the Really Bad Things happen.
Apparently, there was a stealth mushroom somewhere on a slice that I ate. And the Really Bad Things began to happen at 4:44 Friday morning.
When you wake up because it feels like Boy scouts are using your stomach for knot-tying training, you tend to notice the time.
Pukefest 2008 began somewhere around 9 a.m., educating Buddah, who has never seen someone trying to hork themselves inside out before. The cats then took turns sleeping on top of me, because apparently someone who feels like crap needs to be pinned to the bed by 15 pounds of purring fur, forbidden to roll over in order to find a more comfortable position in which to enjoy their misery.
I am not complaining; I was a lot less sick than previous Mushroom Adventures have left me, so perhaps the kitty therapy worked. I was almost human on Saturday, exhausted on Sunday, but feel about 90% today. It must be obvious that I feel so much better, because I've been able to sit here by myself since I got up this morning, and actually have a cat-hair-free t-shirt on.
Hopefully when the next Perfectly Awesome Day rolls around I'll keep my mouth shut, because if I don't, someone out there with a Thumper VooDoo Doll will make sure I get it in the shorts.