Evening All,
So after last week's dreamy slumber, I am most definitely back in the reality of Blighty. I would say I am enjoying life as I know it but with the last couple of weekends being spent puking and poorly inside the flat, I haven't had much opportunity to venture outside and explore apart from my morning commute.
It all started last Saturday when I went out for a lovely brunch with my Auntie and Grandma from my Mother's side. With my pre-teen cousin in toe I soon felt a whole lot older as he started to "Dab" his way through his iPod in the middle of Sainsburys. Nevertheless getting home afterwards I made myself some lunch and, with Mr. Warehouse away with Mr. CWG at a gamers convention in Birmingham, I looked forward to an afternoon of catching up on shite TV. Crunching down my Tivo Box I suddenly started to feel a pain in my stomach. It was almost how I would imagine a stomach cramp or period pain to be, but as the afternoon continued and the evening set in it got worse. By the time Mr. Warehouse had arrived home I was bent over, crippled with the pain in my abdomen. Taking a couple of paracetamol I curled up on the couch and watched some Saturday night telly, but after being violently sick numerous times, I finally fell asleep on my boyfriends lap before being carried to bed.
Waking a few times throughout the night to be sick again I was still exhausted when the sun broke through our window. Although feeling much better I put it down to maybe eating some dodgey chicken, out of date milk or just a twenty-four hour bug. Feeling much better I thought nothing of it and continued to work the following day. With the working week dragging by in a haze of things to do, office gossip and chitter-chatter we were all finally at Friday. And up until then I was looking forward to the weekend. Mr. Warehouse's brother was taking his fiance out for a birthday meal and wanted us to look after the kids; a six-year-old, four-year-old and a four-month-old baby. We had happily obliged (There was a takeaway in it for Mr. Warehouse and I ... We're not stupid haha) and I was actually looking forward to a weekend playing Momma's and Dadda's. I had already started to carve out my leading role as bad cop and designated an area for naughty little ones, whereas Mr. Warehouse had firmly got into his role by supplying our cupboards with chocolate and sweeties!
But after I returned from lunch on Friday afternoon I felt an all too familiar twinge in my stomach again. The cramping had started again. Looking at the clock and seeing it was gone half-one in the afternoon I considered my options. "There is only a couple of hours left in the working day, just make it to four-thirty and then you go straight to the doctors, you hear me!" I told myself, egging me on. It didn't work. Within a few hours I was falling apart. I had been sick in the toilets, multiple times. So much so there was now nothing left to come up, resulting in a lurid yellow bile consisting of stomach acid and not much more. As I returned to my desk, mascara awry and nice 'Friday' hair now in a messy bun I didn't need my work colleagues to tell me I looked rough. I felt it. Finding my manager downstairs I ushered him over and explained I had to go home after being sick. I didn't want anyone else to get it if it was serious and in all fairness, I knew I couldn't answer the phone and vom at the same time.
Calling a cab and waiting the half-hour or so for it to arrive was excruciating. It seemed like every time I wretched it made it worse, adding to the already tight and tense muscles in my abdomen. I felt as if I was giving myself a six pack, which of course would be very difficult since I was a size 18/20. Getting into the cab I closed my eyes hoping that the journey would be swift. It was not. "This is certainly not the fucking time Taxi-Cab Man to be giving me a sceneic tour of the Bedfordshire countryside surrounding Kempston and Bromham!" I thought to myself as I opened my eyes for a second to make sure the cup I had "borrowed" from the canteen was in place for any "spills". Concerned, the Taxi-Cab driver asked if I was OK but with all patience lost I exclaimed, louder than I probably needed to:
"I would be if I wasn't throwing up into a cup in the back of an already late taxi en route to the Doctors because I think, I have come down with an fatal case of Gastroenteritis! Now unless you want this stomach smoothie all over your seats I suggest you put your foot down!"
Arriving at the doctors, barely able to walk without puking I fell into the arms of my awaiting boyfriend. Staggering to the front desk I checked myself in a I think I must have fallen asleep on Mr. Warehouse as it seemed very quick I was seen. Into the doctors office-room-place I sat, still with half of a boots counter running off my chin, my hair in a Mrs. Trunchbull bun and sick probably down myself I was certainly far from last weeks "Girl I would want to marry" I thought. Examining me from top to tootsies the brilliant lady nurse diagnosed me with having a viral infection and because I studied in my Science and History of Medicine classes I knew that the only way I would be getting better would be rest, pain relief and sleep. I had probably just had a second bout of it after Saturday since my immune system was low and had been attacked once more. Leaving the surgery, I was given a bedpan-thing to be sick into and a box of tissues. Boarding the bus I must have looked a fucking state. So I chose to sit next to the prettiest girl and make myself look a little better, all whilst trying to infect someone skinnier than me. Bitch!
Getting home I was hoofed into bed by my dear Mr. Warehouse and told to sleep. But after periodic snoozes, retching and violent vomiting fits, I couldn't wait until morning broke and I could shake this all off. Waking the following morning on Saturday with very little sleep behind me and a bucket of proof at the edge of the bed I tried to carry on as normal, nibbling at things and drinking plenty. I snoozed most of the day and felt much better by late-afternoon. I didn't want to let down Mr. Warehouse's brother and the children as they were looking forward to coming over to see their Uncles house as much as we were looking forward to hosting them, so I kept quiet about my episodes the evening before. But, spending the night curled up on the sofa, Kiddies half asleep and baby napping too, it was the perfect evening and much better than what I was anticipating. Bad cop didn't even have to rear its head. Well, at least until the children went home!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Showing posts with label Appetite. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Appetite. Show all posts
Monday, 3 October 2016
Tuesday, 8 October 2013
The Straight Jacket
Hello Everyone,
OK, So firstly thank you to everyone for all your supportive messages about last week's slight meltdown. Last week I should explain was a mere blip on the blossoming relationship that is growing between myself and my fromage friend. I soon recognised that essentially it doesn't matter. Mr. Cheese obviously likes me enough to give me his attention during football season and to invite me to spend Christmas with him and his family. After a total of seventy-two hours of not talking to Mr. Cheese I finally caved in when I realised how ridiculous I was being about the whole thing. That and the fact I felt awful at the thought I had made Mr. Cheese feel so bad he lost his appetite. Safe to say though that after the weekend I have just had, the appetite is most defiantly back - And I don't just mean for food ...
After building up on the sexual chemistry between us for a few days it had got to a stage where it was uncontainable. Friday evening as I stepped of the bus from work (early for once) there amongst the bumbler's of town I saw a hairy figure. Straight up to him I went, letting his warm embrace shelter me from the chill of the evening air. It was here, in front of several commuters that we shared our first PDA, or Public Display of Affection to all you oldies out there, haha. It felt wonderful and for a second I didn't even realise that this was Mr. Cheese 'the guy I was wondering weather he fancied me or not'. I felt as if he was proud to show me off as something that he had, and boy has he got me! Hook! Line! Sinker!
After starring into the other ones eyes we decided that we should just go back to mine and settle our insane need for passion right there and then. And so we plodded off back home to my flat where Mr. Cheese and I sat and kissed whilst we chatted away about our weeks before heading out to dinner at a posh Italian restaurant. During dinner I felt like I was with someone who was much more than a regular shag. Something special. Someone special. It was during one of these moments whereby I was gazing and imagining what the future might hold that he asked about my plans over the next few months. This gradually turned from a casual conversation into full blown calender syncing with each other, planning and plotting every weekend up until the end of the year. Some weekends we will see each other, some we will not but I am under no impression that my fondness of him and his fondness of me will only get stronger, and as Christmas approaches fast it can only be a good thing.
Saturday we separated to do our own things although this wasn't before I was tossed and turned in all manner of the sense by a very excitable Mr. Cheese in the morning. Completely and utterly insatiable he only left me wanting more before he went off to football with the family in Oxfordshire and I had a quiet, lazy afternoon at home, despite the fact I had a hair cut and a tattoo appointment booked. Saturday evening I made my way down to my hometown of Dunstable for a Charity event hosted by my Grandmother. Much to my surprise Mr. Cheese was already there, sat at a table awaiting my arrival with entourage consisting of the Tweedles and Miss Stuu. 'He is brave. Turning up in a town you've never been to before, walking into a bar you aren't a regular in and then entering a venue whereby you know no-one. Brave man!' I thought. To make matters worse my Grandmother and Grandfather had already introduced themselves and probably told Mr. Cheese all about my childhood escapades making mud-pies and feeding them to my cat.
Saturday night went surprisingly well. Not only were my Grandparents there to meet the 'not-so-secretive-anymore' Mr. Cheese; but also on the line up was my Father and his girlfriend as well as my Uncle and Aunt closely followed by some close family friends all of which were kind and easy-going on him. And as I mingled amongst family and friends I became aware that whilst I had left Mr. Cheese in the well capable hands of the girls I still knew that he would be able to hold a conversation well. That was until my Father came over to talk to him, ushering me away. Making eyes at Miss Tweedle-Dumb I knew she would keep the conversation away from Mr. Cheese as possible. Sometimes I have the greatest friends.
As the night continued I slowly recognised the tell-tale signs of a drunken self. High-fives shared between myself and Miss Tweedle-Dumb coupled with giggles and tears of laughter I knew I was well on my way to getting very drunk. Didn't help that I had a mixture of bubbles and shots to line my stomach of nothing. Eventually the night came to an end and after walking through town I thought it best to head home to Bedford and the comfort of my own bed, obviously with Mr. Cheese in tow and not before stopping at the chicken shop on the way to my flat to invest in some shares by buying half the shop's fried-chicken supply. And there I fell, into bed full up on chicken and cuddled up on the infamous chest wig of Mr. Cheese himself.
A relaxing Sunday followed with the morning and most the afternoon spent in bed before heading out to a local shopping mall for some late lunch with Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb. Following my previous grievances with chicken salad at restaurant's I decided after spending a good twenty minutes looking at the menu I would have such dish. Although this time they ruined it with seeds and oranges. I genuinely felt like I was eating a bird-seed fruit salad and how the fuck you eat it with chop-stick I will never know. People of China I commend you for your odd cutlery and bizarre food habits. But of course I wasn't going to snub my nose at something in which Mr. Cheese seemed to take much a delight in eating at said restaurant. I grinned and bared it and to be honest by the time I was done it didn't taste that awful. Sorry Shanghai but I will not be making a trip to you in the near future.
After experiancing more PDA's from Mr. Cheese whilst walking around the shops after Lunch I understood just how silly I had been. Sunggles, hugs from behind, sneaky bum squeezes and holding hands made me just want Mr. Cheese all to myself. Its mad to think that this time last week I was panicking about weather there was any hope of a future with Mr. Cheese and yet now, after countless sex episodes and head-aching orgasm's not to mention the crazy weekend meeting the family and handling me drunk I can honestly say that there seems to be a clear road ahead. Heck Mr. Cheese has even suggested squeezing in a mini-break to the West Country where he attended University. When or weather we will even be able to fit it all in is another question but I think it is fair to say that all is well and that crazy mentalist has now gone back to the psychiatric hospital she escaped from!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
OK, So firstly thank you to everyone for all your supportive messages about last week's slight meltdown. Last week I should explain was a mere blip on the blossoming relationship that is growing between myself and my fromage friend. I soon recognised that essentially it doesn't matter. Mr. Cheese obviously likes me enough to give me his attention during football season and to invite me to spend Christmas with him and his family. After a total of seventy-two hours of not talking to Mr. Cheese I finally caved in when I realised how ridiculous I was being about the whole thing. That and the fact I felt awful at the thought I had made Mr. Cheese feel so bad he lost his appetite. Safe to say though that after the weekend I have just had, the appetite is most defiantly back - And I don't just mean for food ...
After building up on the sexual chemistry between us for a few days it had got to a stage where it was uncontainable. Friday evening as I stepped of the bus from work (early for once) there amongst the bumbler's of town I saw a hairy figure. Straight up to him I went, letting his warm embrace shelter me from the chill of the evening air. It was here, in front of several commuters that we shared our first PDA, or Public Display of Affection to all you oldies out there, haha. It felt wonderful and for a second I didn't even realise that this was Mr. Cheese 'the guy I was wondering weather he fancied me or not'. I felt as if he was proud to show me off as something that he had, and boy has he got me! Hook! Line! Sinker!
After starring into the other ones eyes we decided that we should just go back to mine and settle our insane need for passion right there and then. And so we plodded off back home to my flat where Mr. Cheese and I sat and kissed whilst we chatted away about our weeks before heading out to dinner at a posh Italian restaurant. During dinner I felt like I was with someone who was much more than a regular shag. Something special. Someone special. It was during one of these moments whereby I was gazing and imagining what the future might hold that he asked about my plans over the next few months. This gradually turned from a casual conversation into full blown calender syncing with each other, planning and plotting every weekend up until the end of the year. Some weekends we will see each other, some we will not but I am under no impression that my fondness of him and his fondness of me will only get stronger, and as Christmas approaches fast it can only be a good thing.
Saturday we separated to do our own things although this wasn't before I was tossed and turned in all manner of the sense by a very excitable Mr. Cheese in the morning. Completely and utterly insatiable he only left me wanting more before he went off to football with the family in Oxfordshire and I had a quiet, lazy afternoon at home, despite the fact I had a hair cut and a tattoo appointment booked. Saturday evening I made my way down to my hometown of Dunstable for a Charity event hosted by my Grandmother. Much to my surprise Mr. Cheese was already there, sat at a table awaiting my arrival with entourage consisting of the Tweedles and Miss Stuu. 'He is brave. Turning up in a town you've never been to before, walking into a bar you aren't a regular in and then entering a venue whereby you know no-one. Brave man!' I thought. To make matters worse my Grandmother and Grandfather had already introduced themselves and probably told Mr. Cheese all about my childhood escapades making mud-pies and feeding them to my cat.
Saturday night went surprisingly well. Not only were my Grandparents there to meet the 'not-so-secretive-anymore' Mr. Cheese; but also on the line up was my Father and his girlfriend as well as my Uncle and Aunt closely followed by some close family friends all of which were kind and easy-going on him. And as I mingled amongst family and friends I became aware that whilst I had left Mr. Cheese in the well capable hands of the girls I still knew that he would be able to hold a conversation well. That was until my Father came over to talk to him, ushering me away. Making eyes at Miss Tweedle-Dumb I knew she would keep the conversation away from Mr. Cheese as possible. Sometimes I have the greatest friends.
As the night continued I slowly recognised the tell-tale signs of a drunken self. High-fives shared between myself and Miss Tweedle-Dumb coupled with giggles and tears of laughter I knew I was well on my way to getting very drunk. Didn't help that I had a mixture of bubbles and shots to line my stomach of nothing. Eventually the night came to an end and after walking through town I thought it best to head home to Bedford and the comfort of my own bed, obviously with Mr. Cheese in tow and not before stopping at the chicken shop on the way to my flat to invest in some shares by buying half the shop's fried-chicken supply. And there I fell, into bed full up on chicken and cuddled up on the infamous chest wig of Mr. Cheese himself.
A relaxing Sunday followed with the morning and most the afternoon spent in bed before heading out to a local shopping mall for some late lunch with Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb. Following my previous grievances with chicken salad at restaurant's I decided after spending a good twenty minutes looking at the menu I would have such dish. Although this time they ruined it with seeds and oranges. I genuinely felt like I was eating a bird-seed fruit salad and how the fuck you eat it with chop-stick I will never know. People of China I commend you for your odd cutlery and bizarre food habits. But of course I wasn't going to snub my nose at something in which Mr. Cheese seemed to take much a delight in eating at said restaurant. I grinned and bared it and to be honest by the time I was done it didn't taste that awful. Sorry Shanghai but I will not be making a trip to you in the near future.
After experiancing more PDA's from Mr. Cheese whilst walking around the shops after Lunch I understood just how silly I had been. Sunggles, hugs from behind, sneaky bum squeezes and holding hands made me just want Mr. Cheese all to myself. Its mad to think that this time last week I was panicking about weather there was any hope of a future with Mr. Cheese and yet now, after countless sex episodes and head-aching orgasm's not to mention the crazy weekend meeting the family and handling me drunk I can honestly say that there seems to be a clear road ahead. Heck Mr. Cheese has even suggested squeezing in a mini-break to the West Country where he attended University. When or weather we will even be able to fit it all in is another question but I think it is fair to say that all is well and that crazy mentalist has now gone back to the psychiatric hospital she escaped from!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)