For The Record...

The very next person to say, "Well, at least you'll lose some weight," when they hear about my recent sickness...will be forced to suffer a very long, very painful near-death experience. I say "near" death because I want that person to feel every moment of suffering. This will involve but is not limited to:

- Having to hang out with the most annoying OPK I know, and the play date will involve having to do craft activities which are designed expressly to annoy people,
- Eating my Mother In Law's cooking (sorry MIL),
- Conversing about parenting with the now infamous Helicopter Mum,

and

- Going on a Cub-and-You camp which does not have any actual toilets or cooking facilities.

Because, seriously, after more than 10 days of feeling like my ass is on fire, and harbouring a bad mood the sort of which is usually felt by postal workers wielding an AK-47...I do not give a flying fig if I have lost even one quarter of one eighth of an ounce. Right now, all I really want for Christmas is the ability to do a solid shit.

Thank you. You may now return to your regular programming (and may I suggest you not call me and mention weight loss vis-a-vis food poisoning.)