“Well, you’re not eating a big meal. I’ll make you some toast. Dry. I’ll see if we have some ginger ale. If not, you’re getting water. Go crash in bed.”
I listened to Bev and wandered to my bedroom.
I sat down on the edge of the bed and took a deep breath.
I honesty felt fine.
Almost relieved in a way.
I touched my stomach and thought about what I ate the night before.
Something obviously hadn’t settled well in my stomach.
It really didn’t matter much now.
I was home.
I showed up to work, got sick, and now I was back in bed.
Bev brought me toast and ginger ale.
I didn’t want it, but I ate it.
And I felt fine.
I felt great.
In fact, I grabbed my laptop, threw in my earbuds, and went to work on my new story.
The asshole boss story.
It was flowing really easily.
At one point I stopped writing and laughed.
I was getting paid to write about how much I hated Cole.
I guess throwing up this morning wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
For as eccentric as Bev acted, she proved herself to be a great caretaker. Even though I wasn’t actually sick, she made me stay in bed all day. Honestly, it was like a mini vacation. She served me and I typed words.
My stomach growled for some real food like a pizza, but Bev insisted I stick to a bland diet, just in case.
By eight at night, I begged her for real food.
She looked down at me and touched my forehead.
“You’re cool,” she said.
“I’m not sick,” I said. “I think it was just something I ate last night. I threw up a couple times quick and that was it. I’ve felt fine all day.”
“I’ll get you some real food, but you have to look at something first.”
“Sure,” I said.
Bev hurried out of the room and came back with a t-shirt.
“If that’s a picture of me throwing up I’m going to move out tonight,” I said.
“It’s not that at all,” Bev said. “But… you did inspire it…”
She turned the shirt around and at first, I didn’t understand what it was.
“Uh…”
“Just look,” Bev said. “It’s a bathroom. Well, it’s two bathrooms. And they’re dancing.”
“The entire bathroom is dancing,” I said.
“And it’s, like, you know, party until you get sick,” Bev said. “But it’s the bathroom. So where do you get sick at then?”
Bev smiled big.
I kind of got what she was trying to say.
I pointed to the shirt and laughed. “Okay, I like it.”
“Yeah?” Bev asked. “I’m going to keep that one.”
“Yeah, you should,” I said. “Just keep working on the punchline, you know? But that’s good. I mean, right, yeah, if a toilet gets drunk and has to throw up… where does it throw up?”
Bev snorted. “Yes! You get it!”
“Now how about some pizza?”
“I’ll order some right now,” Bev said.
She danced out of the bedroom.
I caught the whiff of the ink and I blinked a few times to get used to the smell.
I got out of bed to shut the door and crack my windows open a little bit more than normal, just to get some fresh air in the bedroom.
Thirty minutes later, Bev brought me pizza.
An hour after that, I was asleep.
And I had a dream about dancing toilets.
My getting ready for work routine wasn’t all that special.
I didn’t spend hours in front of a mirror to make myself look perfect, sexy or anything like that. I kind of pushed up against the rules of Cole’s company. He would have preferred me in some sleek, black dress like I wore at the cabin, so I did all I could to wear the opposite.
Nice pants. A nice shirt. Nothing shown off.
I knew he hated it.
For me, I felt comfortable.
I squirted a glob of toothpaste to my toothbrush and the second I touched my teeth, I threw the toothbrush into the sink and stepped back.