Because I like to start the week with a bang, I spent all day Monday feeling queasy and unusually warm.
I hung around at work, mostly due to the fact that I've been calling in sick a lot in the past few months, and I don't want to become known as the absentee employee. I realize that I'm not being judged that harshly by my co-workers, but I also have a slightly overblown sense of paranoia. Perhaps that can be blamed on the vast amount of X Files I watched growing up. Perhaps not.
Of course, it follows that after convincing myself I couldn't really be nauseous, I got a phone call from my Better Half who had also been feeling queasy and warm all day, and who finally wretched for ten minutes straight all down our street. He was at home, recovering in bed. I was concerned, both for his health and mine, and left work early to avoid a similar street puking incident. My BH and I sat around chatting, doing homework and eating delicate amounts of Thai takeout all evening. I didn't puke, which made me beam with a delirious sort of pride.
I feel much better today, and I suppose the only moral I can glean from this is that Thai food has magical healing properties.