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Death (wish) by Summer Sausage

[WARNING: you might want to skip this post if you have a weak stomach–or at least wait until you aren’t eating.]

I love summer sausage. Nay, not love. I LOVE summer sausage.

Summer sausage, however, doesn’t love me…

Around this time of year, my local Sam’s Club will sell have a display full of about 300 logs with a label: “Yard ‘o Beef” slapped on the front. I cannot force myself to walk past the display without my mouth watering and my fingers itching to grab just one…OK two.

And so it was in October I came home from Sam’s with six feet of beef (these things are about as thick as the business-end of a baseball bat). It was all I could do to wait until I got all of my groceries put away before sawing into one. Then, I did a few more chores and I cut off a few more thin slices. I sat down on the computer to do emails and check book sales–grabbed a few more slices for the task. Dinner time came, I wasn’t so hungry so I cooked for my boys and just snacked on another couple of slices. Played a game with my kids and spent an hour of us all doing some clean up. When they went to bed, I decided to watch an episode of Switched at Birth (I just discovered this show and it’s really good). Anyway, I was feeling hungry now so…you can guess where this went, I grabbed that blasted summer sausage log, a knife and cutting board and headed for the living room.

By the time I was ready to head for bed, I realized that in the course of the afternoon, I’d devoured approximately half of that log! Yep, that’s about 18″ of a slab of densely packed beef.

Gritting my teeth, I shoved it as far back in the refrigerator as I could so I wouldn’t have a repeat performance the next day.

I soon found out, that step was unnecessary when an hour later I was awakened with the most painful stomachache I’d ever experienced.  Followed by a taste in my mouth so foul my nose and eyes watered. I rolled over to get more comfortable and the situation intensified. Immediately, I shot up. I need to get to the bathroom! It wasn’t a far walk, but alas, the trip was made for naught. Nothing was budging either way. In fact, it just made me sicker. I slunk back to my bed and crawled in, another round of the noxious gasses filling my mouth. Blech. I laid on my side and a HUGE air bubbled filled my stomach. Groaning, I rolled back onto my back and in all of my infinite wisdom, I tried to push my stomach for relief. Nothing.

Sweat started t0 dot my hairline and my stomach roiled and burned with pain as what felt like a ball of broken shards of glass started to move in my intestine. I thought I was going to die.

The ball of broken glass only moved about three inches, then stopped. I clenched my eyes closed tight and repressed a groan, then flipped onto my stomach. Pressure! I need to put some serious pressure under my stomach. Let’s force this ball through! No such luck. Never in my life have I ever wanted to have gas, but at that moment, I’d definitely welcome it.

Gas! Perfect. Clutching my stomach and trying to blow out the nasty taste in my mouth as quickly as I could, I hobbled to the bathroom to see if I have any sort of GasX or PeptoBismol. No and no. Another eruption of nasty taste accompanied by bile surged up my throat and into my mouth. Instinctively, I clenched my belly and just knew 18″ of summer sausage was about to reappear. Nope. Not that fortunate. Nothing.

I glanced at he clock. It was barely past midnight which meant the Podunk dollar store about 1/2 a mile from me wouldn’t be open and my conscience wouldn’t let me drive to town to get the relief I sought while my kids slept. It was almost bad enough to consider waking them. Almost. Thoughts of having to hobble around Walmart at dark-thirty while clenching my stomach and groaning in pain kept me from going. What if someone thought I was on drugs and called the police on me?!

Another rush of pain shook my body and I flung my writhing, hot self up into the bed, waiting to die because surely this would be my last night on earth.

Obviously it wasn’t, but it went by slower than a UPS delivery when you know something’s coming. With each tick of the clock, I could almost hear “sausage, sausage, sausage, sausage, sausage”.

When morning finally came, I felt no better than I had hours earlier and had to take three breaks on my way up the stairs to wake up the boys. (A good old fashioned wake up call might have been a better idea.)

When at last I got them downstairs, fed, clothed and out the door to the bus stop, I flopped like a worm out to the car, climbed in my car and floored it to the dollar store.

“Pepto,” I croaked to the clerk when I walked in.

She blinked at me. “Pardon?”

“My stomach is about to explode,” I said through gritted teeth. “I need PeptoBismol.”

I can’t be sure, but I swear that clerk started giggling. I just followed her outstretched finger and with one hand groping along the racks to help keep me upright, I padded over to the far back corner of the store. Of course. I finally reached the back. My eyes raced across the rows of antacids, gas relief, laxatives. No Pepto or Mylanta. My eyes blurred with tears. No, this cannot be. It MUST be here. I looked again, this time using my finger to help my eyes stay on track. Finally, at the very bottom all by itself was one lonely, pink bottle. Grunting like a madwoman, I leaned so far forward I feared I might fall face first into the display (scarcely concerned about the laws of nature and that it would be this very minute that the glass bubble decided to exit–but secretly hoping it would just to relieve the pressure. Who cares if I’d be too embarrassed to ever shop there again. Relief was NEEDED.).

Making my way to the checkout, I noticed what I had in my hand was some cheap imitation. I didn’t care. it was pink and it was by the stomach relief items. That as good enough for me. I started pulling off the plastic that surrounded the cap and shoved it in my pocket. I got up to unoccupied counter and plunked my bottle on the belt. With a groan, I rang the bell, then twisted the cap off and in a move that would make my germaphobe mom shudder in disgust, I took the biggest key on my keyring and stabbed it through the foil seal on the bottle of knock-off Pepto. Vaguely aware that the cashier was now at the register and ready to scan my bottle of summer sausage antidote, I chugged about a third of that bottle.

Wiping the back of my hand across what I’m sure was a pink mustache dotting my upper lip in the most undignified way, I reached into my pocket and paid the lady, then muttered an apology, grabbed my bottle of serum and grunted back to the car.

Ten minutes later…

Everything was fine and I was contemplating breakfast (just no summer sausage).

And now, I have been cured. Just Sunday I was at Sam’s and walked past the display without having even a twinge of an urge to take one home. No, thank you!

QUESTION: What could you eat (or have already eaten) so much of you could make yourself sick? If you have overindulged, did it cure your hankering? Come on, let’s hear those stories!

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Behind the Scenes, Books, changes, Family, fun, Happenings, Her Sudden Groom, I'm human too, I'm the victim of myself, Just for Fun, My own craziness, My readers rock!, Polls, Randomness, Real Life, Save me from myself!, Secrets of a Viscount, Swag, things that make me laugh, To Win His Wayward Wife, Why Me?!, Writing

Long time, no blog

For those of you who don’t know (or remember me :-p ) my name is Rose Gordon and once upon a time I wrote historical romance–mostly Regency-era.

Here’s a few visuals…

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Me at RT in Chicago 5 *gulp* years ago.

 

 

And when I wasn’t slaving away to write about unsuspecting fellows and their over-scandalous counterparts, I was on here blogging about nonsense like…

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Jezzie–the mannequin head my family and I pass around.

 

(The time I fell through the attic on Thanksgiving.)

 

(Crazy stuff I’ve found–and maybe bought…–at the fair or craft mall.)

I also shared on here about my failed attempts at crafts:

Held crazy votes:

 

Or shared stories about my kids:

(100 “signed by author” stickers, plus autograph for 100th day of school; and my kids fighting over a stuffed enema…)

So many of you supported me when I raised $10,000 for MS and looked like an idiot while doing it!

Let me share some seriously scandalous “swag” I’ve picked up at different conventions:

 

I had so much fun writing over 600 blog posts whether they were stories about the craziness in which I live, a man’s POV of my books, hosting contests and so much more. I have missed out on so much by not posting very consistently for the past three years. A fact I wish I could change–but some things aren’t things you post. Or at least not things *I* could ever post.

Many don’t know that about 3.5 years ago my world tilted on its axis when the happily-ever-after I believed I was living fell apart. I have gone through fire after fire since and in my own opinion, I think I’ve emerged a much different, and perhaps stronger person.

Am I ready to write romance novels again? No. Maybe one day, but not today.

Am I ready to start blogging about the craziness that I now face with boys who are 10 and 12 and have entered into their first year in public school? Oh, absolutely. (Funny sidetrack: on Halloween my kids left for the school bus 10 minutes earlier than they needed to. Why? Because they could and I was in the shower and couldn’t tell them, “Oh, hell no.” When I got out of the shower, I noticed I had received about 5 texts from my kids. “Mom, we’ve been down here for 5 minutes and haven’t seen a single bus. I don’t think they’re having school today. You know, Halloween is a holiday.” Oh, my poor kids who’ve always been in a church school or heaven help me homeschooled for an overwhelming year. I wrote back: “Wait for the bus. You left 10 minutes early. The bus doesn’t even get there until 7:40 and you usually leave at 7:30. Writing me at 7:25 to tell me you haven’t seen the bus and you think there’s no school in observance of Halloween will be posted to Facebook if you two argue when you get home tonight. 😀 Love ya!”)

So, if you’re up to following my blog to follow more about me and my shenanigans, my crazy parenting, unusual finds, ridiculous signs, craft fails, wild tales and other craziness where truth is stranger than fiction, than please stay tuned and subscribed. (After all, it IS called Rose Unscripted.)

If you followed my blog as a means to keep up with my writing progress and being informed of new books only, I will by no means be disappointed if you’d like to unsubscribe.

Again, I want to thank you all. Whether you’ve been a follower since I started blogging in Feb. 2011 or have subscribed recently, it doesn’t matter, I just appreciate that you’ve enjoyed my work enough to sign up!

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The Best-Worst Thanksgiving Ever ~ Turkey Trot Blog Hop

Thank you all for “hopping” on over here today as part of the Turkey Trot Blog Hop.

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This year, I am most thankful that I survived LAST Thanksgiving.

Last year, Thanksgiving was more like the Fortunately, Unfortunately Game.

My day started early–very early, with the release of my first official Mail-Order Bride book: Jessie: Bride of South Carolina. 

Jessie_BrideofSouthCarolinaTired of living under her father’s iron thumb of control Jessie Wilcox decides to do the unthinkable: run away to Montana as a mail-order bride. The only obstacle in her way: the one hundred miles between her home in Williamsburg County and the train depot in Charleston.

Joel Cunningham is in utter disbelief when the girl he once loved beyond reason is on his front porch asking him to disobey her father’s wishes and drive her to Charleston. Logic and reason scream no; his lips, however, say yes.

Will the one hundred miles ahead of them be enough to overcome the five years of painful regrets or will Jessie follow her dream for a new life in Montana?

This book is ON SALE for 99 cents from now until Nov. 28, 2016

Amazon ~*~ Apple ~*~ Barnes & Noble ~*~ Google ~*~ Kobo

After getting up at 2 am, my time, midnight PST, to make sure this released without a hitch and all the formatting looked great, I went back to bed for a few hours. Got up and made all sorts of goodies for Thanksgiving including: potatoes, a relish tray–complete with sliced turkey and a delicious from-scratch pumpkin cheesecake. I had it all out on the counter (uncovered of course) and ran up to my attic to get grab something from my attic i just HAD to have. Then this happened…

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Yes, I feel through the attic. Fortunately, I was able to grab a hold of one of those beams and my legs just dangled. But still.

Then I came downstairs to find this:

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Insulation had “snowed-in” my kitchen…covering all of my freshly baked/cooked goods!!

Fortunately, I was safe. Yes, my food was ruined and yes, this was going to be a costly repair, but I didn’t fall. Had I fall from my 12′ ceiling onto either those counters or on my concrete floor, I probably wouldn’t be able to write this today. So, I am so very thankful for that.

A little stirred–okay EXTREMELY shaken up–I went to Thanksgiving dinner at a friend’s house and as I was relaxing just enough while watching Home Alone, I started drifting to sleep, envisioning I was falling through the attic again! Good times.

After going home, I realized insulation was still snowing down (I’d cleaned it all up before I left) so I decided to go get my drill and a ladder to screw the ceiling back together. (No worries, I didn’t fall from the ladder–thank goodness.)

For whatever reason, last time I went to my climate controlled storage unit, I was working on some project and left my drill there. So I hopped in the car and drove over and my code wouldn’t work to get past the security gate. I tried the code over and over and over and finally I called the number on the keypad. Thinking I was about to get in, I was in for a rude awakening when the lady on the other end of the line said “You didn’t make your last payment.”

“Impossible!” I scoffed. “My debit card is attached and you guys–like clockwork–suck my payment straight from my bank account.”

“Well, it didn’t happen this time. You don’t pay, you don’t enter.”

Just then I remembered…A few weeks before I had to get a new debit card because someone had stolen my number and was trying to create dating profiles for a dating site somewhere in Africa… So, no, indeed, I hadn’t paid and though I offered to write her a check for double what I owed if she’d come let me in, she was unwilling to leave her family and drive those two miles to come let me in. (I bet she was really down at Wal-Mart waiting in line to get it for Black Friday sales! Just a theory.)

And at that moment, I had the oddest sensation: burning eyes and moisture on my cheeks! I’m not a cryer, but I was just then. It was like the flood gates opened.

However, in retrospect, I am so thankful all of this happened because I had no idea I had missed that payment and as it turned out, if I had reached Dec. 5th without payment, they’d have auctioned off my storage unit which was full of all of my swag, books, costumes, props for trade tables, and all other sorts of “Rose” things. Things that aren’t easily replaceable. Nobody would want them, but I wouldn’t want to not have them.

So in a way, it was the best-worst Thanksgiving ever and I want to thank all of my loyal readers for always being there for me. The ones who who have read this story before and the ones who sent me good vibes and thoughts.

Okay, okay, enough emotion, please leave a comment below telling all of us about a time when something great came from something you thought was so horrible to be entered to win a copy of Jessie: Bride of South Carolina.

Then please click the following graphic to go hop on down the list. Please remember, the more blogs you visit and comment on, the more chances you’ll have to be entered into the grand prize drawing for a $50 Amazon gift card. 

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Behind the Scenes, draft file, Randomness, Save me from myself!, Why Me?!

The Tread Desk: A visit from the Draft File

As most of you know, blogging hasn’t been my forte lately. The long and short of it is that I’ve had a lot of things happen in my personal life since May 2014 and blogging was one area I’ve had a hard time keeping up with.

Don’t get me wrong, I have tried. I have REALLY tried but it just doesn’t happen. I’m finally to a place (or at least closer to it) where I genuinely think I could start blogging more regularly again–so much so that I’m even participating in TWO Blog Hops this month. The first one is a private one and the second one I am hosting. Yes, you read that right, I am hosting it. If you have a blog, please follow this link and sign up. The more the merrier!

While cleaning up my blog today, I noticed the draft file…Fun Fact: there are 122 blog posts that are in the draft file. That’s a lot of starts that didn’t get finished.

Here is one of my favorites, I started it back in Oct. of 2013. It’s titled, The Tread Desk.

As most of you can imagine, I spend A LOT of time sitting on my derriere each day. While I have no trouble sitting, and actually enjoy it, over the past three years, I’ve had one terrible side effect: I’ve gained some weight. Serious weight.

When I first married Bob, I was ninety pounds and literally could have blown away in the Oklahoma breeze.

Then I had two children.

That changed things DRASTICALLY for me. I no longer struggled to gain and maintain weight, but for the first time in my life, I was “sturdy”. I did fluctuate between the 120 and 130 range, but when you’re only 5 feet tall, no matter if you’re 120 or 130, you look heavier than that. Looking back now, I should have been THRILLED and embracing my newfound “luscious feminine curves” as they’re often referred to in books. But, I did not.

I started writing Intentions of the Earl in the spring of 2010, then in the fall wrote the two follow-ups, thus began my “secretary’s spread” as a friend of mine used to call it when I worked in an office job as a secretary. It’s where you sit on your hiney all day working, and because you’re eating at your desk (thus eating more) and not being very active, you start to spread.

I knew I was having some sort of issue with maintaing a stable weight when I realized that at the ripe age of 24, sweat pants were far more comfortable than jeans! Furthermore, I remember getting a slight wake up call in early 2012 when Her Secondhand Groom was picked as a finalist in a contest and I was going to fly down to be present at the awards dinner. In my excitement, I bought a green dress to match Juliet’s, and got some stern determination that I WAS going to fit in a certain size because I refused to buy anything larger and started walking and gave up soda. This unfortunately led to the horrific tale of me getting myself STUCK in said dress.

I can admit without reservation that the dress DID fit when I needed it to, but my good habits did not last. I was back to drinking soda and not walking soon enough, though I did continue to ride my bike. Slowly, but surely every ounce (and then some) came back and by last year at Christmastime, I came to the conclusion that if I didn’t do something, this yo-yo would continue.

This year, I’m doing much better. Am I super skinny and looking stellar? No. BUT, I’m working on it.

One such way that I’ve begun working diligently on it was by buying THE TREAD DESK.

This is as far as that draft got. Why? Probably because I even finished it I had found alternative uses for said tread desk. I wish I’d read this draft a few months ago before I did a major overhaul of my office because for ages I had boxes stacked up on the treadmill part and paper, fabric, and insanely high stacks of books piled on the desk part. Needless to say, that tread desk lasted about as long as this post.

Do I still have it? Yes. Do I use it? Absolutely! It’s a great conversation piece. Just like my stationary bike and my “shaker” (don’t ask). 

The Tread Desk, while sounding great in theory that you’re walking while typing, has one little flaw. (I should make note that the flaw is not in the product itself, but with ME.) My multitasking extends just as far as being able to chew gum and walk at the same time. I was always gripping the sides of that desk for dear life while I was on the treadmill, which defeats the purpose because I couldn’t type and when I did, I could feel my fingers slid right off  the keys. Good times. 

I know what you’re all secretly wondering: could she wear that green dress now? And the answer is….NO! Not a chance. I’ve physically put my body to the test for the past two years trying to stay healthy and somewhat fit. My arms and legs have slimmed down, but my middle has not. (Oh and I can’t even remember when the last time I had a soda was.) I have finally decided to take some advice I saw on Facebook the other day….

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Have a good afternoon! Oh, and today is the last day to enter my contest from yesterday and if you have a blog, go sign up for the blog hop!

Family, I'm human too, I'm the victim of myself, My own craziness, Randomness, Real Life, Why Me?!

Are you man enough?!

Eddie aka Kindergarten Casanova is now in 4th grade!!! Crazy how time flies, huh? 

Well, as it would happen he has a gal pal again this year. Shocker! He is quite smitten with this one and is always asking to invite her places. In turn, she is always extending invitations his direction, too. 

We first knew love was in the air when she came to his 10th birthday to play laser tag. Since then, it’s skateboarding on the bike trail. Weekend showings of Disney movies. Picnics at the parks. You get the idea.

On Friday they have a field trip and he reallllllly wants to sit next to her on the bus. I mean this attraction is so strong he’s strategizing four days out how he’s going to pull this off. I suggested he ask her earlier in the week and secure their seating arrangement. His solution was just to stand real close to her at line up. Bob suggested what we were all thinking, “if you hold her hand while lined up, you’ll definitely not be pushed out of the way.”

To which he replied, “I’ve already proved to her I’m man enough to hold her hand!”

“Huh?!” I couldn’t contain my curiosity. 

“Yeah, she held out her hand said I could hold it if I was tough enough to and I did.”

Oye. 

As I write this I have one child cackling as he tries to read it over my shoulder and the other one threatening if I post this on the internet he’s going to lock himself in his room and not come out for 100 years! 

Ahhhh motherhood! 

fun, My own craziness, Randomness, things that make me laugh, Why Me?!

A new career aspiration for school kids! 

I can’t take credit for the following photo. It came across my newsfeed on Facebook and I about died laughing.

  
Now we all know it happens. I have about 60 friends on my personal Facebook page–you know where I’ll post pictures of my kids and have the security so tight nobody can see squat. 

Of those 60 friends I have at least one friend who sells each of the following:

  • Essential oils–posts per day: minimum of 4–one for each way she used them that day. 
  • Mary K–posts per day: limited to 2x month when she’s ordering. 
  • Pampered Chef–posts per day: limited about one a month before an order  
  • Plexus–posts per day: 2, sometimes 3 one of which usually contains a picture of her daily “pink drink” either in a glass, or a new blender bottle or dumped in a slushie. 
  • Herbalife–posts per day: 2 minimum, 3 on a good day, and 5-6 on a very exciting day when someone lost two pounds!!!
  • It Works body wraps–post per day: countless!!! Last I looked it was hourly. As a bonus, this person uses all the little iPhone symbols and writes posts like this:

WHAT😱😱😱 the Bonuses💰💚💰💚💰 are Back‼️ I’m sharing this with You now!! 

I have been given the opportunity to *Start over* and build up another set of leaders. So that means I have to help you🙋🏻grab these bonuses😱. You will be personally enrolled and Mentored by me!!!💞 

I’m ready to help you‼️ All you need to do is to message me and we will start today😍

📲 text OR private massage me 💞

What makes me teeter-totter between laughing, gritting my teeth or just plain rolling my eyes is when I get tagged in these posts. Last I checked I didn’t go exercise this morning at 5:30 am and if someone thinks I did, or worse that I will, I have news for you! And for as much as $23,000 is an appealing amount for a bonus, I have some serious reservations as to the details here. 

It’s sad that 10% of my friends are there to sell me something. I must be a real bore. 😂

Feel free to grab the picture and share it if you need to deliver a subtle message to that one (or six) friend. 

(By the way, if any of you sell any of this, I’m not talking about any of you! I have one person on my Rose Gordon Facebook friend list who sells plexus and she goes about it appropriately. Yes, 1/650+ vs 6/60… That’s my lot in life.  Now if I could get the other 400+ authors to stop trying to sell me their books! 😝)

Real Life, Why Me?!

Why Me?!

Most of you have probably figured out by now that I’m a few things:

  1. A magnet for the crazy in life
  2. Have EXTREMELY bad luck when it comes the bathrooms
  3. My life is oftentimes stranger than fiction, thanks to #s 1 and 2

Well, it’s happened again. I have another bathroom story to tell–and this one, while funny (sort of…) now, was anything but, on Saturday morning.

To back up, about two weeks ago, I had a contractor come out and give me an estimate on a simple repair in my bathroom. While here, he came out and asked if he could use my bathroom. A little shocked that it couldn’t wait for the five or ten minutes it’d take get a few measurements, I said sure. When I went in there after he left, the strong cloud of Febreeze choking the life out of me made it obvious that perhaps, to him, it couldn’t have waited. No big deal. The germaphobe in me wiped down the toilet with a bleach wipe and I went about my day.

On Friday, he came back to do the work in the bathroom. My master bathroom has a set of french doors leading from my bedroom to the bathroom. They’re nothing fancy, just two small water-heater doors put on opposite hinges with doorhandles that don’t actually turn. You just pull them open to go in and pull them shut behind you. No lock.

So this guy brought his five or six year old child with him (which was fine, I’ve had to bring my little kids with me places, too). While they were working in there, I was working in the the kitchen and doing whatever. The guy comes out and says, “Hey, my kid needs to use your bathroom, I just want you to know so you don’t come in there.”

I waved him off. The kid probably could have peed undisturbed in the time it took for him to come out there and tell me that, but whatever.

An hour or so later, they come out and said they’re all done and I can put all the contents back into the cabinets under my sink when I’m ready (he’d taken every single thing out to work on this project). Eager to see how it looks, I zipped into the bathroom and my eyes immediately fell on the toilet and I froze. Seriously? Is the bright silver lever on the upper lefthand side of the toilet a mystery? Oh well, realizing the guy was right behind me, coming in to explain what all he’d done (minus leaving me an unwanted gift in the commode), I quickly put the lid down and turn my attention to where he’s showing off his handiwork. I will give him this, he does a good job and I let him know that and said, “All right, let me get you a check.” Since he was closer to the door, I let him go first and I quickly flushed the toilet!

About halfway across my bedroom I heard that sound that can make anyone’s stomach fall to their toes: The Gurgle. You all know what I’m talking about. We’ve all heard it. The toilet cannot choke down the task it’s been given.

Dread overcame me and I hurried to give him his check, then run back to the bathroom, praying the floor–and consequently all of the stuff that belongs in the cabinets under my sink–is still dry!

Clutching my nearly-bursting heart, I sigh with relief when I see there isn’t water flowing over the side of my porcelain throne. Then I cringe. I should probably lift the lid and see what’s going on. Grimacing, I close one eye, hold my breath and tentatively reach forward to lift the lid…

THEN JUMP BACK!

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not even more than about a thimbleful of water in the bottom of the bowl. Blinking like Alex Banks, I craned my neck to see behind the toilet. Did it hide back there, or something? Surely, I am not lucky enough to not have to deal with this.

Nope, nothing.

In a state of numb disbelief, I reach for my container of bleach wipes and disinfect every surface in the bathroom. Twice.

A few hours later as I was getting ready for bed, I tiptoed into the bathroom as if there would be a monster waiting for me, then took care of business and cringed again. That blasted gurgle! But nothing. Not even water. Odd.

Nothing else to do, I went to bed.

Then 1:30 am rolled around…

Half-asleep and cursing myself for insisting I need to drink 100 ounces of water a day, I go take care of business. Then it happens: gurgle, gurgle, gargle, GARGLE! GARGLE! 

Fully awake now, I flip on the light and shriek. Yes, I shrieked. Everything was coming up with no sign of stoping. Frightened and panicked, I grabbed the plunger and clad in my favorite nightgown plunged–and shrieked some more–like a madwoman.

Why does this crap (literally) always happen to me?!