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You may consider this a Tasteless Tuesday story. I, however, consider it a love story.....

I've always been an independent I-can-do-it-myself kind of girl. I don't like a whole lot of pampering or hovering, & nobody cleans up after me - unless, of course, I'm paying them to. This incident happened after I'd only been married a couple of years.

I'd been on some medicine that knocked down my immune system, which meant I was susceptible to any and every germ flying through the air. I try to stay home during these times, but Miss Independent just had to go to the grocery story. Noooo, I couldn't let someone do that for me. Someone at that grocery story must've had a nasty little germ with them that day, and they shared it with me. I fixed my family a nice little dinner and all was well.

During the night, I kept waking up with a terrible stomach ache. Gurgling, rolling, ugh. I'd go to the bathroom, sit and sit until I almost fell back asleep, but nothing would happen. Back to bed. Up again. After a few times, I was afraid I'd wake hubby so I layed on the couch. That's where he found me when he got up. When I told him what was going on & he told me to go back to bed.

My tummy had just started another round of gurgling & rolling, so instead I went to the bathroom again and shut the door. We leave our bathroom door open most of the time, so we walk in on each other peeing all the time. No big deal. But a shut door means Do Not Enter. I was sitting on the commode, bent over in pain, when a gust of projectile hot water shit came blasting from my ass. I was afraid I'd melted the porcelain off the toilet, but didn't dare look to see.

I expected some relief from the pain to follow, but if anything, I only felt worse. Now I'm really confused. Still bent over double, moaning. Hubby had walked up to the door about that time & heard me moaning. "Are you OK?" I was confused and hurting so bad, all I could do was mutter a weak "no." He came barreling into the bathroom, like my knight in shining armor. He took one look at my face & knew what was going on. After all, he'd raised a little boy by himself. "Honey, just let it go." I didn't have time to argue. All I could do was puke up that nice little dinner I'd made the night before. All over the floor into a small lake.

After several heaves, including a few dry ones, I knew I was finally done. I was horrified, trying to figure out how I was going to clean this mess up. PLOP came a huge towel that hubby threw over my puke, just like Prince Charming. He was straddling the puddle, helping me up, when I said "Wait, I have to wipe." See, he didn't know what treasure was waiting in the toilet bowl. He held onto me while I wiped my ass & even managed to flush and pull up my panties. He walked me across the towel, and led me to the bed. I weakly said "I've got to clean that up," but he said he would take care of everything, for me to lie down.

When I opened my eyes, I saw him heading toward the bathroom with every cleaning utensil he could find - mop, bucket, broom, Lysol, I even think he had the Windex. He shut the bathroom door behind him & went to work. Now I could hear him moaning. Hubby has a very strong sense of smell, which definitely was not working in his favor right now. I heard him heave at least once. I've never asked him if he heaved before or after he got most of it cleaned up. I hope it was before - at least he wouldn't have had to clean it up twice. More, maybe, but not twice.

I layed on the bed crying, because I felt so bad, and because my relatively new husband had just witnessed something no husband should ever witness. At some point, he finally came out of the bathroom & layed down with me, telling me it was OK, holding me until I went to sleep.

When I woke back up & dared to go back into the bathroom, it was spotless and even smelled nice and clean. I don't know how he managed, but I do know there are towels that i've never seen again.

To his further credit, he's never ribbed me about it. The only time it ever comes up is if I mention I'm going to the bathroom. He just asks if he needs to get the mop. I've promised him that I'll aim for the trash basket if it ever happens again.

Its not a great love story, but its definitely ours.

~Holly