Twas Brillig

Well, I didn’t really. But it would be a much better story if I had.

You see, on Easter Sunday, I went to an awful lot of trouble to make an absolutely exquisite meal for my parents and my husband’s parents. NO pressure there, right?

And it was delicious. Oh, I can’t even tell you how divine it all tasted. Especially for me, since I’ve been dieting for some time now and I’d almost forgotten how anything besides lettuce and celery tastes… But for this momentous occasion, I tossed the diet (along with my smaller waist size) right out the window and partook of all of the heavenly feast.

A good stuffing was had by all.

And then…. that night… I couldn’t sleep. My stomach was churning and burbling. And finally the churning and burbling became too much…

Cue puke fest.

And as I sat there, hunched over the toilet in all my loveliness and bile, wretching every last ounce of somewhat digested mush, it occurred to me that I had probably poisoned them all. My parents, my in-laws, my husband, my kids, and myself. We were all done for–all because I’d tried to make a nice meal. DONE FOR, I say.

At first, I thought of all the money I stood to inherit. But then I realized that I would be a goner too. The only person who stood to profit was Lil’ Dude, since he hadn’t eaten any of the exquisiteness, but instead had settled for a bottle of Enfamil (whose number one ingredient is “corn starch solids” AKA SUGAR. Dude, HE should be the one dieting, not me! Anyway…)

As I realized it all, I waxed a bit Lady MacBethian*. I was murdering them all and my son was to be put on the throne, as it were. And I was thrilled for him. I almost wished I’d planned it. And I wouldn’t be stupid enough (or alive enough) to sleep walk and tell everyone about my evil deeds.

Alas, in the morning I was reassured by all that I had been the only one partying at the puke fest. Apparently my body couldn’t remember how to digest all that deliciousness. Just as well. It means that I probably didn’t gain much weight from all that deliciousness either. So neener neener.

Of course, when I asked my Dad if he’d gotten sick, he replied that he hadn’t…

and then he made “the joke.”

Because apparently if a woman of a certain age is throwing up, the only explanation is that she must be pregnant. Yup. It’s a conspiracy. Men, older women, and children can puke all they want to and won’t be taunted with the “p” word. But if you’re a female 20-something and puking, then surely you must be pregnant.

Haha, thanks Dad. Hilarious. You know, the kind of hilarious that makes me want to reach in through my belly button and rip out my uterus and sell it on Ebay. THAT kind of hilarious.

That’s the kind of hilarious that’s gonna get you all poisoned. Seriously. Don’t test me. I’ve already proven myself capable.

And Lil’ Dude will make a lovely monarch.

*By the way, yes I KNOW that Lady MacBeth was murdering everyone to put her husband on the throne, not her son. I wasn’t saying that I was doing exactly what Lady MacBeth was doing, I was just saying that I was adopting her attitudes. And, seriously, don’t try to go head to head with me when it comes to Shakespeare. It won’t go well for you…

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