I’m still recuperating from the “I’m not sick” game, so today’s post will be short and silly.
Growing up I thought the devil was the cause of all of the bad things in the world: bee stings on the bottom of your foot, headaches that appeared out of nowhere, the deaths of small animals.
Now picture a preschool-sized me throwing up into the toilet. It might have been food poisoning or some kind of nasty virus. I no longer remember. Between heaves I sat up, looked my mother in the face, and declared, “I hate the devil.”
This was not a joke. I genuinely believed that the devil was the one who’d made my digestive tract curdle into something sour and unpredictable.
How she kept a straight face I’ll never know.
What’s your funniest story about being sick?