“I cannot rest,
I cannot stay,
I cannot linger anywhere.”
- A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens

My stomach hates me.  I don’t know why. 

After a lovely lunch at Blue Plate Cafe, I ran to Target (AGAIN!) because the part of Bryan’s gift I actually allowed them to ship to me was completely wrong.  I was SO over Target.  So I waited in line to return it with the receipt I had to print out (because God forbid I bring a shipping receipt), and finally made my way to a register.

The guy behind the counter was very nice and helped me out a bunch. 

So I take off towards the electronics department (which is the place homicides are most likely to occurr), when I feel my stomach HIT. BOTTOM.  But I’ll be damned if I was gonna make a second trip to Target (or was this my third?), so I clenched every butt muscle I had and pressed on.  Bryan’s present and dog food, I rationalized.  JUST THAT, and I can go home.  To my toilet.

(For those not in the know, or “losers” as I like to call them, I will not use public restrooms.)

I find the part of Bryan’s gift I was looking for (or enough to suffice) when I run into one of the executives of my entire program.  With his family.  Of three kids, whom all merit a five minute introduction.  And as I begin to worry that my intestines will burst within me, I begin the five-year old pee-pee dance.  This man, being a father, will HAVE to notice this, right?  Nope.  Kept talking.  What was I shopping for?  Hadn’t I been sick recently?  AH, an out.

“Yep, still pretty sick,” I burst forward with.  “Merry Christmas!” I shout over my shoulder as I waddle toward the pet food.

I share this with you because, last night before bed, we lay on my couch.  Bryan said, “I know you’re gonna hate this, but I have to share these things with you.”

To which I responded, “You’re about to tell me about a bowel movement, aren’t you?”

He didn’t miss a beat.  “Yeah, but it was amazing.”

We share because we love.