(I know I'm doing lots of conversations lately, but... well. I just am. So there.)
me: (5pm yesterday) I had forgotten what awful indigestion I get from hot Krispy Kreme donuts. I must be getting old. Or more bilious.
me: (7pm yesterday) HERBLAUGH!
me: (9pm, 10:30pm, 12:30pm, 2:30am, 3:30am) HERBLAUGH!
t.rex: (7pm to 4am) OE! MY MAMA WON'T TOUCH ME! WHAT HAPPENED TO MY WALKING CHEESEBURGER MACHINE? DADDY PALES IN COMPARISON!
t.rex: (4am) Uh... is someone stepping on the hose, because my cheeseburger machine appears to be running dry. And stinky.
me: I stink, I'm dehydrated, and I got two hours of sleep next to a pissed off baby. Now that it's 7am, I will pay one million dollars for a bottle of 7Up or any greenish beverage. Any takers?
my mom: Why, yes, I will leave my job in the dark of early morning to bring you not one, but three different greenish beverages, because I am a freakin' hero.
me: GLUG GLUG GLUG. Gee, I hope I'm not going to womit again.
the Biscuit: Mommy, I need some milk. Mommy, I need some more milk. Mommy, I have manners, so please can I have some chocolate milk and a raspberry cookie and then I can see the snail and also paint? Mommy? How about some nice oatmeal with blackberries, but don't stir it up, because really, I just want to eat the blackberries? How 'bout that? What are we doing today? Can we go buy another snail? Or a cat? Or go to the playground?
t.rex: Seriously, is there some button I'm missing on the cheeseburger machine? My milk cow has apparently run dry, and these crackers aren't going to moisten themselves.
me: UGH. But now I can eat toast.
me: (1pm) UGH. But now I want some McDonald's, please.
Dr. Krog: I'm starting to feel a little UGH myself, but I will bring you McDonald's, because I am a frickin' hero. Huh. I didn't finish my cheeseburger. That's unusual.
Dr. Krog: (4pm) HERBLAUGH!
the Biscuit: WAH!
me: What's wrong, sweetheart?
the Biscuit: DADDY TOLD ME TO GO AWAY!
me: Well, yes, people who have the stomach flu don't really want to be touched or talked to, really.
the Biscuit: BUT I WANT TO SEE IT!
me: You want to see what?
the Biscuit: WHAT DADDY IS DOING!
me: He's vomiting. That horrible noise that sounds like a wormhole to the zombie apocalypse is your father barfing.
the Biscuit: I WANT TO SEE IT!
me: Why on earth do you want to see Daddy's barf?
the Biscuit: I WANT TO KNOW WHAT COLOR IT IS!
me: Um... it's a really noxious sort of brown. A pukey brown. And it reeks. I speak from experience.
the Biscuit: BUT I WANT TO SEE!
Dr. Krog: (weakly) She can come see me, if she wants to.
me: She doesn't really want to see YOU, sweetheart. She wants to see your puke.
Dr. Krog: I already flushed it. It reeked.
the Biscuit: THEN I WANT TO SMELL IT!
me: Okay, honey. You go right upstairs and smell your daddy's vomit, if it'll make you happy. But don't expect a big Christmas.
In other news, if you saw me on Monday, please go take a bath in bleach.
It's for your own good.