134. Ceramic Teddy Bear

There's pretty much nothing more unattractive than throwing up. Your eyes get all watery and bulgy, all your veins pop out, and you make sounds straight out of Jurassic Park. Also, once you've seen someone vomit, you can't find them attractive for at least 24 hours. That's a fact. When I was dating Will, he threw up after a late-night Whataburger run, and I couldn't even think about kissing him for a day or two. I sat just outside the bathroom door, reaching in to rub his back and ask if he needed a glass of water while simultaneously dry heaving into my own lap because as it turns out, I'm a sympathy heaver.

So you can imagine my fear when I realized I was seconds away from throwing up ON Cayden. You can't throw up on your boyfriend and recover from it. That's something that stays with you forever.

"I'll be right back," I said, standing up and slowly walking out of the room so he wouldn't catch on to the fact that I was about to be violently ill. I took deep breaths and started a silent pep talk in my head. "Lock it up. Don't you dare vomit on him. Play it cool until you get to the bathroom. Almost there. Just three more steps."

I took those last three steps quicker than the rest, closed the door firmly behind me, locked it, and turned the water on full blast. I was proud of myself for making it all the way to the bathroom without a mishap, and for locking it up long enough to soundproof the room the best I could.

Now, just like foreplay, vomit is another experience I just can't bring myself to write about. So I'll spare you the disgusting details, but I'll leave you with one question: Do you know what it feels like to have a jalapeno come out your nose?

I brushed my teeth and washed my face and studied myself in the mirror. I didn't look too rough, no visible signs of what had just taken place. I hoped I'd feel 100 percent better, but I still had a burning wave rippling in my stomach that made me want to stay very close to a toilet.

When I came back to my room, Cayden was already in bed with the lights off.

"Are you OK?" he asked.

I wasn't sure if that meant he'd heard me (I'd tried to keep the dinosaur noises down to a minimum), or if he was just following up because I'd said I didn't feel well.

"I'm OK," I lied, knowing a second trip to the bathroom was near. Now, Cayden and I had always been open and honest about everything, but I just couldn't bring myself to tell him I was minutes away from seeing those nachos for a third time. So instead I crawled into bed next to him, trying to figure out what position made me feel less like vomiting. I started on my stomach, then switched to my side, and eventually settled on my back, staring straight up at the ceiling.

Cayden draped his arm around my waist, and the weight of his arm almost caused projectile vomiting. I picked his arm up and dropped it next to me.

"I'm sorry, I just don't feel so good."

"Oh, that's OK, baby. Just go to sleep. I'll leave you alone."

He kissed me lightly on the forehead and rolled over to the other side of the bed. I begged myself to fall asleep. Just sleep it off, I'd be fine in the morning.

I finally dozed off, but woke up about an hour later and ran/walked to the bathroom. Closed door, locked, faucet on. Jurassic Park. Brushed teeth. Back to bed.

"Are you sick?" Cayden asked with a sleepy voice. He must have heard me.

"I feel awful," I admitted, finally. Tears sprang to my eyes. I wish I knew why this happened, but it had been happening ever since I was a little kid. I remember going to the nurse's office in elementary school and I'd be just fine until I got there, but the second I had to call my mom to pick me up, I'd burst into tears.

"Ah, baby, I'm sorry!" Cayden said, trying to pull me close to him to comfort me, but I stopped him.

"I'm sorry, I can't cuddle right now," I said, even though it was all I wanted to do. I wanted to curl up on his chest, wrap up in his arms, and let him make me feel all better. But I couldn't risk throwing up on him.

"You know, I'm not feeling all that great, either," Cayden said, rubbing his hand up and down his flat stomach.

Less than an hour later, he was the one making dinosaur noises in the bathroom, and I was curled up in a ball shaking under the covers. I couldn't get warm. My teeth were chattering so loud it drowned out the T-rex roar in the next room. I wanted my mom. Whenever I was sick, I wanted my mom to take care of me. I remember the first time I woke up sick in college, and I almost had a panic attack when I realized my mom was 2 and a half hours away. I'm pretty pathetic when I'm sick. Oh, and I have a tendency to pass out when my fever gets too high.

I'd imagined how nice it would be when Cayden and I live together and he could take care of me when I'm sick, making me soup and rubbing my feet and wrapping me in a big blanket, cuddling up next to me to watch Notting Hill. But when I imagined it, I usually had a bad cold, or maybe strep throat. Food poisoning on the other hand, well, that was a task for Mom.

Cayden came back to bed rubbing his stomach and shaking his head.

"Are you OK?" I asked through clenched teeth.

"Baby, a jalapeno came out my nose! It was the worst pain ever! I nearly cried in there," he said, shaking his head as if trying to erase the memory of it.

I laughed thinking about my big, muscular Cayden crying over a tiny chili pepper launching out of his nasal cavity.

"Same thing happened to me, but I didn't want to tell you about it because I thought I'd gross you out," I admitted, my teeth still chattering.

"That was awful! How did you not say anything? I felt it all through my sinuses," he said.

Oh, those Brits, always so dramatic.

Cayden and I spent the next 6 hours tag-teaming my toilet and swearing off nachos and jalapenos for the rest of our lives. We both had chills so badly my bed was vibrating. At one point I took a nap on the bathroom floor, hugging my toilet like an oversized ceramic teddy bear. I slept for 20 minutes. That was the only sleep I got all night.


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