It's a total coincidence that it happened so soon after our lovely dinner on Friday night - the panting, the sweating, the - I'm not talking about sex, silly!
I'm talking about being horribly, wanting-to-die-and-get-it-over-with gut-emptyingly sick. The kind of sick that stand-up comedians can't talk about without also mentioning diced carrots. The kind of sick that, when you see it in the movies, always has the unlucky vomiter hugging the toilet bowl as though it were her new best friend (but in real life the toilet bowl hasn't been cleaned for a month so you'd never actually touch it).
It happened on Sunday night, more than 24 hours after our meal out. And it just happened to be about 48 hours after TLM woke up in the night, with a thick layer of puke all over her hair, sleeping bag and nanna quilt.
So I reckoned it was a virus. Funnily enough, TLM was over hers by the morning after, whereas my bout with the retched (sic) bug left me week and literally bedridden for an entire day. Fortunately for me, the boy had taken a few days off this weak to give me extra time off. But I don't think he'd been expecting anything more than a couple of hours of light TLM-play each day...
Thankfully, I'm much better today. I even chanced having a bit of toast this morning, with Flora and jam on it too. And coffee. I got to keep it too.