The Swedish Meatball Incident, also known as the time my mom tried to kill me, has been on my mind all week. I'm just getting over the stomach flu - the two incidents sure did have a lot in common.
My parents had a party and my mom was nice enough to bring me some left over Swedish Meatballs about a week later (I know now it was more than just a week). I ate them on the spot and then we went to HyVee together. I never made it past the deli before making a mad dash to the bathroom. I should have known that was only the beginning.
That night I spent some quality time with my head in the toilet or the Official Barf Bucket - which once held delicious Christmas Crack from Aunt Laurie. Wearing pants that night was not even an option - there wasn't enough time. I was up all night.
I called my mom before the crack of dawn to tell her what she'd done to me and demand that she bring over Gatorade and Chicken Soup. She arrived about 7am and found me camped out on the toilet with my head in the Barf Bucket.
Gatorade? Soup? What was I thinking? I spent the whole day throwing up cold water. It didn't even have time to warm up to stomach temperature before ejecting! Of course I called in sick to work. Just reaching for the TV remote gave me the spins and started the whole process over again. If only I had been more graphic maybe my boss wouldn't have asked "You'll be checking email, right?"
The ordeal lasted three days by the time I was able to hold down a cracker. It was more than a year before I could even look at a Swedish Meatball. So when I spent most of Monday night tossing Cornbread and Chili up in reverse I kept telling myself "If you can survive the Swedish Meatballs, you can survive this!"
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