Greek Tragedy

I almost had something akin to a Greek tragedy on my hands the other day. No, I didn't sleep with my mother and gouge my eyes out... which makes me think of a story that I don't find too amusing but the rest of my family does. So if you can humor me for a minute, I will spin a tale of my own tongue-twisted stupidity:

Back in my early 20's I lived with my mommy again for a year for reasons that are too boring and myriad to go into. While living with her I was able to get my car insurance through her agent on a family plan, or something like that. Between shifts at the restaurant that I was working at, I decided to take my payment in person to the insurance agent and save a stamp, his office being right down the street from my place of employment. While dropping it off to him, he asked me if I was still living with my mother. I replied in an off-hand way, "Yes, we are still sleeping together." Realizing my gaffe I barked, "I mean living together!" But the damage was done. He looked at me like I fell out of the stupid tree, hitting every branch on the way down, and landed in the moron bushes that I was still trying to fight my way out of. From then on I used stamps and mailed my payments in.

But the true Greek tragedy that may have played itself out (that remains to be seen) happened the other night when my little sister made Butter Balls -- my all time favorite cookie in the world. I attacked the cookies with a vigour and stuffed my face and guts as full as I could, then I took my night meds and went to bed. Stupid me, forgetting that one of my new night meds upsets my stomach and makes me want to puke all over anything near me, laid in bed with my guts churning and Butter Balls threatening to come back up. I don't want to puke in my own bed but nobody wants me to puke in theirs. I figured people who don't change their sheets as religiously as me would not mind a little regurgitation mixed in with sweat and whatever else is on their sheets. I figured dead wrong. My little sister doesn't want me sandwiched between her and her bf/f when my guts are churning, or any other time for that matter. Usually I agree 100% with that, but I would rather soil her bed than mine. I was feeling the weight of the Butter Balls on my stomach and the thought of them makes me sick still. I am hoping that if I take a break from them and let my guts forget all about them, that in time I will be able to eat them again. I hate to lose one of the joys of my life all because of some stupid med that makes me green in the face and queasy no matter how much or how little is in my stomach. Oh my dear Butter Balls, I hope we can meet again someday. I will miss your beautiful powdered sugar coating and buttery, crumbly, round goodness. But until that day arrives, the dogs can have mine. My stomach still lurches at the thought of them.