Holy sweet merciful crap I should never have posted on here about feeling better and not vomiting any more. I have clearly jinxed myself.
The following is not for the queasy, faint of heart or those having shephard's pie for dinner tonight:
So I felt freaking awesome, better than I have in MONTHS, so I go online and post about how great I'm feeling. Wonderful, right? We then go for dinner at my grandmother's for Shephard's Pie ( yum! ) and I'm feeling pretty good.
Armed with leftovers from Grandma's, I head back to my mother's place to watch a movie ( Death at a Funeral. Nearly pissed myself watching it, funniest movie I've ever seen! ) and stupidly, dig into the leftovers around midnight.
About an hour later, I had a vicious rumbly in my tummy and, convinced I was about to crap my pants, darted to the bathroom to unleash my inner demons upon my poor mother's immaculately decorated ground floor washroom.
As I was sitting there sweating profusely and thanking god that I had made it to the toilet in time, another, more familiar rumbly started in my tummy - the shephard's pie was coming up! I tried to yell for a bucket ( the sink was too far away and the bathtub was a good couple of feet away ) but couldn't open my mouth for fear of what was about to come out.
I had to make a quick executive decision, thus I stayed where I was on the toilet and puked on the floor.
The problem was, there was a lot of vomit that came up in horrible, heaving waves. It splattered all over my jeans, the walls ( the nearby baseboards were pretty well coated in mashed potatoes and creamed corn ), the side of the tub a couple of feet away even got some shrapnel on it and there was puke splashes up to the door handle on the back of the door. It was a true exorcist experience.
I finish my business and, choking, sweating and half dead I crawl out into the hall to die. My mother, who had heard everything that was going on in there was laughing so hard that the only help she was able to offer was to spray my limp body sprawled on the carpet with a healthy dose of Febreeze and to text both my husband and my sister a full play by play as it was happening. My stepfather came to see what the commotion was, looked inside the bathroom and ran to the kitchen sink to throw up his own dinner, while also dying of laughter.
Once I recovered I was able to tie a pashmina around my face and clean up the bathroom, but it took a good 30 minutes and I'm going to have to buy my mother a new dustpan. Hers has now seen too much horror to ever be used again.
So yes. Since that day I've tossed my cookies every single day again ( but at least it's only once a day now, which is much better than it was previously ) and I solely blame my post on the IN board.
So I'm retracting that statement. I'm not feeling better. I'm still Linda Blair.
And I'm getting on a plane back to the UK in roughly 4 hours. Excellent.
Wish me luck ladies.