Down and Out, But Not IN London And Paris

I've hit bottom. Into my gut it has struck. I have a gastrointestinal disturbance. See I can talk nicely about these things. "These things" may be funny in their way, what with the sounds and smells and all, but not at a fancy restaurant, and not attempting to sit through a movie--I almost said "shit through a movie." So far I've spent some close personal time with my toilet. No vomiting yet, but I'm told by two girlfriends who visited in the last week, that vomiting is a component of this particular bug. So I will keep the puke pan next to the bed.

I was going to try to tough it out and go on my scheduled late birthday celebration for Nick. Since I was late to begin with, I'm now on the hook for making it real special. Well nothing says special like having your lunch date farting at the table and running to the crapper. That wasn't so nicely said, but some things require plain talk. And a movie is out of the question today.

I should just buy him a first class ticket to Paris. He speaks French.