After being on a business trip for three days last week, I was glad to finally get home. It had been a few days of overly indulgent hotel dinners, lack of exercise, and just general grumpiness about being away from home. The previous night's dinner still hadn't settled well in my stomach. I can only assume it was e-coli in the food, because surely it could have nothing to do with the appalling nature of my own gustatory habbits.
I started feeling somewhat queasy on the flight home, always a dubious sign at the best of times. And the Bourne-Identity-style taxi ride from La Guardia into the city did nothing to quell the nausea welling in my stomach.
By the time I skulked into the apartment, I have to confess, I was a bit of a mess, a volcano waiting to erupt, the Mt. Etna of the Upper East Side.
"Hi, Ficali!" Delta exclaimed, getting up to give me a warm welcome hug. Poor chap had no clue.
But I held up my hand signalling for him to stand back. Dumped my bags in the middle of the living room. And rushed past a dumbfounded Delta into the bathroom, green in the gills, one hand covering my mouth. Hanging my head over the toilet, I proceeded to heave my stomach contents of the last three days into the toilet. Kept going. And kept going. And kept going.
I realize this makes for quite unappealing reading. This wasn't what you signed up for when you started reading this post. But wait - don't stop - you haven't even gotten to the most amazing part yet.
The truth is, I set a new record. This time, my body truly rose to dizzying new heights. When I was done being sick, I leaned weakly against the sink, trying to catch my breath. But something still wasn't quite right. I couldn't breath straight. So gabbing a tissue, I blew my nose, long and hard. And what do you know, out popped a sliver of tomato. Out my nose. That's right. You heard me correct. I had thrown up so long, and so hard, that I actually caused a tomato to blow out of my nose.
Is that even possible? That's ridiculous. Not even sure how that works, biologically. Say it ain't so.
But alas, it is. The retching had built up so much pressure in my body, that I blew a freaking sliver of tomato right out of my nose. Beat that if you can.
I started feeling somewhat queasy on the flight home, always a dubious sign at the best of times. And the Bourne-Identity-style taxi ride from La Guardia into the city did nothing to quell the nausea welling in my stomach.
By the time I skulked into the apartment, I have to confess, I was a bit of a mess, a volcano waiting to erupt, the Mt. Etna of the Upper East Side.
"Hi, Ficali!" Delta exclaimed, getting up to give me a warm welcome hug. Poor chap had no clue.
But I held up my hand signalling for him to stand back. Dumped my bags in the middle of the living room. And rushed past a dumbfounded Delta into the bathroom, green in the gills, one hand covering my mouth. Hanging my head over the toilet, I proceeded to heave my stomach contents of the last three days into the toilet. Kept going. And kept going. And kept going.
I realize this makes for quite unappealing reading. This wasn't what you signed up for when you started reading this post. But wait - don't stop - you haven't even gotten to the most amazing part yet.
The truth is, I set a new record. This time, my body truly rose to dizzying new heights. When I was done being sick, I leaned weakly against the sink, trying to catch my breath. But something still wasn't quite right. I couldn't breath straight. So gabbing a tissue, I blew my nose, long and hard. And what do you know, out popped a sliver of tomato. Out my nose. That's right. You heard me correct. I had thrown up so long, and so hard, that I actually caused a tomato to blow out of my nose.
Is that even possible? That's ridiculous. Not even sure how that works, biologically. Say it ain't so.
But alas, it is. The retching had built up so much pressure in my body, that I blew a freaking sliver of tomato right out of my nose. Beat that if you can.
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