Fighting Off Food Poisoning...

is a bad time to woo a woman. We rested peacefully together until the sharp, compressing pains grabbed my entire lower body. It was the pain of 100 crunches while holding in a bowel movement.

I slide out from her pink duvet and made my way to the bathroom with only pinches of streetlight to guide me. Have you ever tried to navigate someone else's apartment at night while there was a #2 deadline? It's deadly.

And the food poisoning was so gut-wrenching that when I did finally make it to the toilet, I couldn't push. So I sat, pain-curled into the fetal position, too sick to move and too gnarled to release the building pressure. Until I did.

It was one of those valve releases that makes you happy toilet bowls provide 360 degrees of catching ability. In third grade, I always thought the fart noises made on the arm were too rich and sonorous to be actual farts, but last night, even a circular breather, on the squishiest of arm fat could not have compared to my symphony.

After my four or fives waves of attack, thinking the mayhem complete, I reached for the TP. That was then I threw up.

I held the vomit in my mouth, my left hand covering my embouchure like a hand suppressing a giggle in church. Since I was already on the toilet, I assumed I could vent accurately between my legs to the tainted water below.

3 AM does funny things to the mind. I ended up spewing onto my lap.

So using about half her fancy $5-a-roll toilet paper and frigid sink water, I cleaned acid-masticated pork shoulder and half-digested frozen yogurt from my thighs and butt. Usually I highly distaste feces and vomit, recoiling from even the slightest hint of either. But with both seeping under my fingernails and into the folds behind my knees, I really only cared about getting back into a warm bed.

Feeling woozy, I wobbled my way back to her pristine bedroom. And with my eyes slowly readjusting, I made out her upright figure in the darkness. "Oh my god. That sounded disgusting. Maybe you should go sleep on the couch in case something else happens."

Dejected, I made up a spot on her couch. At least she didn't make me go home. But next Saturday night, I'm sure I'll be going solo.