Heartburn woke up me up in the early hours of yesterday. Just like the burglars who broke into our house a week before. (That’s another story)
At first I thought it was my Mother-in-law’s cooking as we had dinner there. Turned out it wasn’t because my heartburn was so severe there was no way it could be caused by a mortal’s cooking. It made me think I was able to give birth to fire-breathing reptiles, turning into Phaleesi, the Father of Dragons.
I suffered through the pain because I didn’t want to wake the Wife. Besides, my mother didn’t raise a whining baby. (Well, actually she did but I eventually grew into something resembling an adult.)
I stumbled out of bed before the alarm went off, ready for gym because I’m a sad old man, in desperate need of attention. I changed into my gym attire which consists of sweat pants and a t-shirt. For some weird reason our gym doesn’t allow a shirtless man with batman shorts to train there. I don’t own the clothes that seems to become the standard which is a vest, cap, tights and matching shoes because I’m not a narcissistic asshole.
I went downstairs and woke Dude as I’m a good parent who feels that moderate levels of torture makes better human beings. He growled at me, twice. So it’s getting better.
We were at the door when my stomach turned. Like Hurricane Matthew. I ran back upstairs, leaving Dude with a huge frown on his face and basically dropped my innards in a flash flood. (I’m sorry if that seemed a bit graphic but I did lose about 2,3 kg without even leaving the house!) I told Dude that it probably would be wiser to stay at home because any physical exertion, aka squat or benchpress, might lead to the most embarrassing moment of my life. He was thrilled and ran back to bed, while I returned to my porcelain throne.
I dropped the kids and drove to work with my heartburn reduced to a mild simmer. I didn’t take any medicine because we don’t have any medicine for heartburn. Our family never suffer from heartburn until we do. Maybe it wasn’t even heartburn. Maybe there’s an alien about to pop out of my stomach! I Googled some natural remedies but because I don’t work in a kitchen none of them was available to me.
I lost my appetite somewhere at my house. I probably flushed it. Anyone who knows me will tell you, me not wanting to eat implies I’ve also lost my sense of humour. They are co-dependent. Hungry Pieter = Grumpy Pieter = Stay the hell away. Or feed me.
What can I say, I’m a complicated human being…
Sometime during the early afternoon I finally gave up on my brave act. My heartburn was still hanging around like forgotten Christmas decorations after New Year, I was kind of nauseous, completed a walking marathon of 6.4 km consisting of trips to the office bathroom (which in itself is the worst experience of my life) and my pectoral muscles were still sensitive from chest day. I was basically in labour.
I decided to go home and sleep and feel sorry for myself. Wife welcomed me with open arms because she loves me. She handed me an effervescent bomb that consisted of three different tablets, moon-dust and the spit of Hulk. The reaction in the glass resembled an experiment gone wrong. I was desperate so I simply downed the drink, hoping I haven’t recently done something to piss of Wife to give her a reason to poison me. Men never know these things.
Turned out it wasn’t poison. It actually worked and I felt better when I woke up two hours later.
Sitting at a function later that evening, because there’s only so much sympathy in our household, Wife turned to me and said:
“Wow my love, how do you feel? You don’t look too good. You actually look a little yellow.”
She sounded surprised like she didn’t believe me initially. Or maybe she thought I was exaggerating my ill health like I was some kind of big baby who couldn’t handle a little stomach flu…
As if any man will do such a thing?