If I were a different kind of girl, my facebook status would read something like this:
Violet J. Bickerstaff is so lucky to have such a wonderful boyfriend to take care of her when she's sick. Thanks baby!
Luckily, I'm not that kind of girl. Instead, I'll just go to my blog so to properly detail how awesome my boyfriend was to me when I caught the Peruvian Death Flu over the weekend.
There were no signs that I would spend the weekend on the couch/in front of the toilet puking my guts out. I felt fine when I went out Friday night to meet the cute neighbor and his co-workers for Happy Hour that evening. I was looking forward to an evening out, followed by Friday Night Action, and was quite enjoying myself during my first beer. But before I ordered a second, I decided to wait a few minutes. Something wasn't quite right. A mere 2 hours after I arrived, I felt like I might die. My throat hurt, and I had that awful, achy feeling all over that is never a good sign. As much as I hated to be the first lame-o to leave, I knew I needed to go home, put on my flannel pajama pants, and curl up on the couch with some soup.
I told the cute neighbor (who was probably on his 4th or 5th beer and definitely did not want to go home yet) that I felt like death and needed to go home. He offered to go to the grocery store for me and pick up some chicken noodle soup and crackers. I took him up on the offer. After I got home, had changed clothes, and was huddling under blankets on the couch, I got much, much worse. The kind of sick that makes you cry because you feel so awful and just hurt all over. Not good. It was after the cute neighbor arrived and was making me soup that the vomiting began. And after I had maybe 4 bites of soup, it continued. (Oh, how I wish he'd never heard me throw up, but sadly, this isn't the first time. Note to all: Never let your drunk-on-her-ass roommate make your first beverage of the evening. It will be 75% vodka.) I basically begged him not to leave me alone for the night, and as unappealing as spending the night sharing a bed with a sickie must have sounded, he obliged.
In the morning he went to the store again for more soup, since I was starving, but didn't think I could handle anything more than that. He left me to my Harry Potter marathon on tv while he went home to get some work done, but checked up on me throughout the day to see if I needed anything. Later in the evening went back to the store AGAIN to get me smoothie-making supplies and spent his Saturday night on the couch with me watching tv. Then he stayed with me again. By Sunday morning, I was starting to feel like a real person again. I told him he was an excellent boyfriend and promised that if he ever gets sick (which I've never seen, just pesky allergies) I will be sure to take good care of him as well and even asked him if he wanted to make out with me, which he politely declined. (I've been careful not to kiss him, even though he's shared air space. Best not to risk it.)
Now that we have found another benefit to having an actual boyfriend, we can get back to our regularly-scheduled man-bashing. Grayer, I believe you have something to say on this issue?
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