Washing machine

My tummy hurts. Like I've been laughing at one of my brother David's situationally perfect one-liners or I've been doing as many crunches as Arnold Scwartzenegger says I should be. But, instead, my stomach feels like it has a softball in it every time I flex it because I've been bitten by some sort of flu bug. Unfortunately, I spent most of the day yesterday thinking it was food poisoning and so didn't take any sick supplements. If I had, maybe I wouldn't be feeling so bad today.

A very cute mailman just came to deliver a package for my brother and I had to greet him in the hallway in my Route 66 pajamas. Bless his heart, he said that he couldn't wait to get home to his pajamas, too.

Luckily, he didn't come yesterday when I had the world's worst hangover. All day.

I haven't had a drink in a week.

Nevertheless, yesterday I was trapped on the couch with a fever, giant headache, tender skin, wooziness and the sensation that someone was pulling each and every one of my muscles taut every time I moved.

Also, I had eaten Indian food the night before and all of it plus everything else I ate on Monday left my body within a 45 minute period. Just the words, "butter chicken" are enough to make me . . . well, I don't even want to put those two words together in my head. Think of something else! Washingmachinewashingmachinewashingmachinewashingmachinewashingmachine. Whew.

I told my brother Daniel that he was going to have to break up with Meena. I just can't see how the three of us are going to build a life together if I can't eat the food of her people!

Ugh.