Monday, July 23, 2012

Late Night Reading

Last night, I had another stomach ache.  My stomach has been extra difficult lately, and I probably could’ve done things differently to avoid the pain that ensued.  The abridged version is that I hadn’t eaten all day, worked out, and then took some medicine before starting dinner.  Probably should’ve eaten first and then taken the medicine. 

Oh well.  Live and learn. 

By bedtime, my stomach was going crazy, and I knew it was going to be a rough night.  Shortly after dinner, my empty, drug-laced stomach had begun to eagerly transform my spaghetti dinner into a nuclear explosive.

And I wasn’t sure which end this explosive was planning to be launched from.

So I retreated upstairs, told everyone to keep out, and settled down with my new book, The Mockingjay.

 
Alright, it’s not my new book, it’s L’s, and I’m reading it on the sly.  I bought him The Hunger Games, but made him pay for the other two in the series, in an effort to teach him the value of the dollar.  He repaid me by forbidding me from reading HIS books. 

Anyway, I’m reading away, hoping my stomach will resolve itself, and at some point, late in the night, it finally does.  Ahhhh, sweet relief.  I stayed up for another hour or so, because, while the pain level had dramatically dropped, it was still hurting pretty good.  That, and I couldn’t put the dumb book down.  Finally, at 12:30, I decide to go to bed. 

And that’s when I noticed it.  The horrible smell.

At first, I thought it might’ve been me, because who else is in the enclosed room, but me?  I brush that thought away, because I know I didn’t make that smell, stomach ache and all.  And as engrossed as I am in my reading, I’m still aware of my bodily functions.  I’d notice if I had given myself reason to blame me for that smell.  To be sure, I sniff around, looking for another explanation.  Is it the bathroom?  I go in and inhale.  Nope, it actually smells better in there.

Is it BH, who is downstairs, watching tv?  Could it be him?  I mean, he IS a guy, and he has been known to clear a room.  Maybe he’s got a sick stomach too.  Maybe it’s food poisoning, not the medicine, that has done me in tonight.

I slowly open the door and take a whiff.  Nope. Again, it smells better out there than in the bedroom.

What the heck?  That’s when I realize that the patio door in my bedroom is open.  Is it possible that he has the downstairs window open also, and the fumes are funneling straight up to my room?  I stop to consider this.  It’s possible.  That must be it. 

Folks, it was late at night, I was weak from the dinner I had just wasted, and anything seemed possible at this point.

I head downstairs to warm up my hot sock one last time before bed, and I ask BH if he’s having stomach problems.  Nope, no stomach problems, not even a gurgle.  It’s not him.

Back upstairs, I notice that the room has cleared.  Was it all my imagination?

As I turn off the light and get into bed, I smell it again.  And then it hits me, not unlike the wave of deadly gas gel that seeps into District 2 after Boggs gets his legs blown off.*

That’s when all the pieces fall into place.  Charley!  Charley, who has been quietly in his cage since bedtime, had eaten some free treats from Petco tonight.  Appropriately enough for this family, he also has a tricky stomach, and something tells me these treats were not looked upon favorably by his digestive tract. 

My hunch is confirmed, as I approach his crate, and the smell intensifies.  It was the dog all along! Which then makes me laugh, as I rehash all the reasons I brainstormed for the phantom smell in my room.  I actually accepted that the smell had crept up the outside of the house and seeped into my patio door!  In the harsh light of day, I can only say I was tired and sickly at the time.  Not in my right mind.

I think this is so funny that I go downstairs to tell BH about the whole series of events, along with his part as the scapegoat (which he was totally fine with…he knows it was plausible).

And Charley, who is the sweetest, most adorable rescue dog in the world, now reminds me of this book:



*That was an unabashed reference that only my fellow Mockingjay nerds would understand.


5 comments:

Just Keepin It Real, Folks! said...

I love it when you can blame nasty SBD's on the dog. My kids do it all the time!!

NumberWhisperer said...

Keepin It Real, how could I have reached this ripe old age and not know what SBD means? Well now I do, thanks to your prompt.

And SBD it was, lol.

Lady Goo Goo Gaga said...

ughh -animal gas is the worst

You're Lucky I Don't Have a Gun... said...

Lol- this is funny.

NumberWhisperer said...

Lady Goo, true that!

Gun, I bet you've had those nights, heh.