On Friday night I got a coupla bad shrimp and ended up with my first-ever (and, please god, last) bout of food poisoning. It is indeed a mean and gruesome malady. AND! I got it right at the start of what was supposed to be Date Weekend, as Miss Rosebud was visiting Amazing Grandma Grace. Rock Mama was truly not feeling romantic. Ask me to bitch about it and I'd be happy to.
On Saturday we'd planned to go to the Farmers Market which was, as it turned out, not in the cards for me. I awoke to a thick, hot day, the hum of the fan and an empty apartment. And, to this note taped to the diningroom table:
"I have wented to the Market of the Farmers. You looked sleeping , so sleeping I have let you for time. I am loving of yourself and want healthy things at you. Vegetables and objects of tasty food will I have bought for us and will also come home after the buying. Do not vomit or die!"
It was signed "The Papa M". Now, that's good medicine. Is it any wonder that I love him? Naw.