I'd just like to thank Dr. Antibiotic, inventor of the antibiotic, in 1512, and you can fact check that. For I flumped into the doctor on Friday feeling truly horrific. I wanted to sleep and not go to the appointment, that's how awful I felt, and whatever happened to home visits or whatever they're called? Housecalls! That's it. Maybe these antibiotics, courtesy of Dr. Antibiotic, are making me a tad fuzzy.
The point is, I went to the doctor, got a prescription, took the stuff, and like two hours later said, Oh. Okay, I'm absolutely well now.
Okay, ABSOLUTELY well was a stretch, but a lot better. I spent Friday in bed, with the occasional animal. And Blu.
After my quiet Friday, I had to clean the house and so on because I was having a little dinner party on Saturday night. For a few months now I've thought I should introduce The Other Copy Editor and her husband to Aunt Chris and Uncle Lilly, because they are all early 30s mature business owners and why any of them hang around me is a mystery, other than m'cooking, of course.
That was the hilarious-ist part. Both men in these couples are stellar cooks, and I had to cook for them.
The doctor said I wouldn't be contagious by Saturday night, so I didn't cancel our dinner and soldiered on, because I'm tough but I'm fair. I went to the Italian market, bought special fancy ingredients, and made the spaghetti sauce my friend Renee gave me the recipe for. A recipe she guards so carefully that she made me sit in my car, back in 2003 (I know this because I wrote the recipe on an envelope from old mail and the post date is on there), lest her spies be listening had she given it to me anywhere out in public.
So all day Saturday I cooked and I cleaned and I got everything pretty and I maybe pushed myself too hard because hello exhausted. But I took a little nap before everyone got here and I lived. Clearly. Because otherwise, talk about ghosting.
Here I am waiting for everyone to arrive on Saturday, and then finally people did arrive, and I didn't have enough dining room chairs so I had to sit on a lawn chair, which was delightful and comfy and not at all metal.
I never took any photos once the guests arrived, because I was busy, you know, enjoying the evening and it didn't occur to me to capture it for social media. I know. Who do I think I am?
But speaking of --
--oh, my god. I was happily typing this post, after having taken my antibiotic on an empty stomach, when all of a sudden (did you ever hear someone say, "All the sudden" before? Don't you want to slap those people clean across the face?) I got
so
nauseated.
I've just spent the last half an hour lying down, taking deep breaths, sipping fizzy water. Oh my god. You know barfing is my phobia. I am sorry to tell you I called Ned. Cause I was scared. I have to stop calling Ned whenever there's a crisis.
"Ned Nickerson," said Ned, because presidential at work.
"I took an antibiotic on an empty stomach and now I'm barfy!" I wailed.
"Oh, no. Your phobia," said Ned. He told me to eat bread, so I did, and now I am up again.
Also, speaking of all the sudden, do you know what else annoys me? "I was taken back by her statement."
IT'S NOT TAKEN BACK. No one took you in a time machine.
Taken ABACK. Not taken back. Jesus Christ.
Now I'm late for work and I have to shakily try to drive there without barfing. But I wanted to show you the pretty plant Chris and Lilly gave me. It's called a helleborus, which is probably what I do to them. "June, you hella bore us, so here's an appropriate plant."
I made the error of mentioning to everyone that night how I don't like to hob knob that often, that people think I'm more of a extrovert than I am. "Really, if friends want to do something more than once a month, I get annoyed," I said.
Naturally, when everyone left, they were all, We'll talk in 30 days, then! See you in a month!
I should never tell anyone anything.
Man, I feel rotten. Ugh.
Talk at you later. I take back all the nice things I said about Mr. Antibiotic, up there.
Queasily,
Jew Ann
