I'm sick. Really sick. Like I almost want to die sick. I am 100% convinced I have salmonella from bad tomatoes. Or cholera. Because it feels like cholera. I mean I have never actually had cholera before yesterday, but I have seen The Painted Veil and I am pretty sure this is what cholera would feel like. Cholera is not fun.
I had Uberman looking up salmonella and tomatoes on the Google last night. I just really needed to know if it was possible to die from it. Can you imagine how uncool? Death by tomato? Seriously, can you think of a less menacing fruit? Maybe the raspberry. But tomatoes are pretty wimpy. At least pineapples have that prickly outside. I would much rather die from a pineapple.
So in my weak and delirious state last night I was asking Uberman if he would remarry right away. I was so happy when he said no. Until he explained that it might take a while to get his new wife cleared through immigration. Oh ha ha ha. Uberman, you are so funny. I am dying. And instead of spending our final moments together telling me you loved me and your life was better for knowing me (at least that's what Ed Norton told Naomi Watts in The Painted Veil), you are cracking jokes about which country would be easiest for importing new wives. He's leaning toward Germany.
Just for that, when I die I am going to leave him with two baskets of unfolded laundry. I was going to fold them in between trips to vomit, but I am not going to waste my time. The newbie can handle it. So there. That's right, hell hath no fury like a woman with cholera. Or salmonella. Whatever.
The good news is I am closer to my goal weight. Yay me! Will someone please make sure Uberman buries me in something really cool? Like leather pants. Or that dress Halle Berry wore when she won her Oscar. I loved that dress.
I'm going back to bed. That is if I can make it before passing out on the stairs. Hopefully the kids will at least roll me to the side so I don't get trampled.