After Rose and I got back from BrockVegas yesterday, we stopped in Ile-Perrot to drop off the car. We ate at an Italian restaurant with delicious food that I was tasting 14 hours later. For some reason, it didn't go down all the way, so after having some water, I was able to successfully transfer some of it from my stomach to a plastic bag. (I didn't feel like driving the porcelain bus. That's only appealing if you are roaring drunk.) I generally have a rule, in two parts: a) If you are out and you puke, it's time to go home, and b) if you are at home and you puke, stay there. So what am I doing here at work? Firstly, I have been sick recently and I didn't want it to look as though I were playing hooky from the one day this week that I will be at work, even though I could just come in tomorrow. Secondly, and mainly, it was in support of Rose, who has to work the rest of this week. As I am writing this, though, I am regretting my decision. Even though I drank de-fizzed Sprite to settle my stomach and push yesterday's food down, I can't eat, my belly feels funny, I'm hungry and I think that my temperature is going up.
So I might as well weigh in on our trip to Brockapulco. When I got there I saw that my parents were noticeably smaller than usual. My father is about 5'9 1/2, where before he was 5'11". 6 feet when I was young. He sitting in his chair with a blanket covering his legs. He fell asleep watching the game, and awoke with a start when I approached. Not only did he seem shorter, but he was just small in general. It was as though I were looking at him from eight feet in the air.
I went to the other end of the house to say hello to my mom. She was lying on her side in bed watching TV. She, too, was smaller in all dimensions. In fact, I saw just how small the next day. She's in fairly good health for a 70-year-old, but since the last time I saw her (October), I think she's lost about 20 pounds. She says that her appetite disappeared.
