What a Weekend!

Around eight o'clock Friday night my body exploded.

Okay, not really. But man, oh, man, it sure felt like it.

I was fine one second (in fact I'd had a pretty good day) and the next I had a full blown (pardon the pun) stomach virus.

Achy joints, fever, chills and all sorts of intestinal phenomenon took place. Finally, last night, about 48 hours later, it passed. (Pardon the pun, again).

At some point yesterday, late morning, maybe, I thought I really needed to come downstairs, if only for a few minutes. My fever had broken, so I wobbled on down for a few minutes.

Good Lord.

Husband had been in the kitchen.

Alone.

There was no discernible counter space seen. Both sinks were completely overrun with dirty dishes. The bottom dishwasher drawer was open. Somehow Husband had managed to get it stuck in that position.

The good news is, there were still a few clean dishes left in it.

He had attempted to fill the sugar canister, as it had emptied (mysteriously). But a large clump came out and he wound up spilling a third of it on the floor and surrounding areas.

If I hadn't been sick to my stomach before, that would have cinched the deal.

I think I swooned.

Even the fish, who resides on the window sill over the kitchen sink, was looking at me frantically. PTSD, I assume.

I never got as far as the pantry, where the two tall trash cans are, but I can guess.

I wobbled back to bed, and as soon as Daughter got up, I mewled to her that she had to clean up the kitchen.  She assured me those were her plans, not to worry.

Worry?

Who me?

By last night, the kitchen was back to the normal happy place it was designed to be. I was not afraid to eat something from it; feeling secure it no longer held any hidden plagues.

And I was feeling better, too.

Whatcha wanna bet I did not lose ONE pound through all this?

Ah, well.

It's good to be back.