In the dark hours of last night I suddenly woke up with the realisation that my lovely wife was not in bed beside me. The emptiness must have called out to my conscious mind… I sat up, listened and heard some grovelling from the bathroom. I called and she replied faintly. It wasn’t an ogre. (Note to Oscar Pistorius , this is how normal people do it, we call out, then wait for a reply. No guns required).
My wife was sick, and not the feminine flu kind of sickness, she had a full force puke-a-thon-thing going. Liquids were leaving her body from all known orifices and then some. There was no choice in the matter, she was competing in some twisted version of a relay; racing between the bathroom and our bed. All. Night. Long.
When I woke up I could feel the Sandman’s residue didn’t dissolve properly and I was left with scratchy, blotchy, red eyes. My wife didn’t look any better. She…
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