The last meal I had before the barf-o-rama that sent me to the ER with dehydration last month was Indian take-out.
Yesterday, after a whole day of no nausea, I felt good enough to cook! (something I haven’t done in three months…) So I made dinner for friends of a nice lentil dal, raita, brown rice, and chutneys. At 1:40 I found myself once again hugging the porcelain god turning myself inside out wondering why again I agreed to do this “baby” thing.
What is it with this kid and curry? Very discouraging.
Spousal Unit is taking me to the opera this weekend in New York as a Valentine’s present. I’m fervently praying that I don’t throw up onto my new very expensive shoes in the middle of the Barber of Seville. I suspect very strongly that the Met frowns upon such behavior.
Although, given my track record, if I avoid curry at dinner, I should be OK!