Going Vesuvius

Submitted by Mary:

On the day of my date with Roger, I woke up with a sour stomach.  It was normal for me to sometimes have a little bit of an ache before eating, but this was different - it felt as if I was going to be best friends with the toilet all day.

I took a couple of antacids and had a light breakfast and that seemed to help a little bit.  I wondered if I was coming down with a virus, but the on-again, off-again bad stomach was the only symptom.  I grabbed the bottle of antacids and went off to work.

My stomach behaved itself for most of the day, except around lunch time, when I had a bathroom run that probably registered on the Richter scale.

Roger himself was a really great guy who I couldn't wait to meet.  Turns out, we went to the same college but never met each other while there.  He studied psychiatry, and was most of his way to his doctorate.  I was looking forward to the date like no other in recent memory.

I arrived at the restaurant we had picked out before he did.  Maybe it was nerves, or maybe it was just bad timing.  Whatever it was, when Roger called to tell me that he'd be five minutes late, my stomach felt like it was thrashing itself from side to side.

I ran to the restaurant bathroom, a bit panicked.  For some reason, I felt sure that if my stomach kept giving me trouble, then it would cost me any chance I had with Roger. 

I sat on the toilet, nothing happened, my stomach rumbled, and it seemed to settle down.  I sat there for an extra minute or two, then readied myself to meet him.

He arrived a minute after I made it back to the front of the restaurant.  He looked great, and he gave me a big hug.  So far, so good.

We sat down at a booth and ordered a couple of waters.  He was very friendly and seemed really glad to be there, as I was myself, but fears about my stomach kept distracting me.

The waters arrived and I absently took a sip.  It was cold.  The next thing I knew, I shivered, and I felt almost all of the strength flow out of me.

"Oh my God... are you okay?" Roger asked.

"Be right back," was all I could muster as I freight-trained my way to the bathroom.

I bust into a stall, not even bothering to lock it behind me, sat on the toilet, and went Vesuvius on that thing.

After that, I felt better.  Way better.  But I was still really weak.

Someone entered the bathroom.  "Honey, it's a waitress.  Are you all right?"

I imagined Roger telling her to check on me and her replying, "Don't worry, sir.  I'm a waitress."  It made me smile.

I told her that I was fine, that I had a bad stomach, and that I'd be grateful if she could relay that to Roger.

I was in the bathroom for a little while longer, most of the time gaining enough nerve to exit it.  I finally did, and Roger was waiting right outside for me.

"Do you need a doctor?" was the first thing that he asked.

I told him that I was fine, and he offered to take me home.  I felt awful for ruining the date, but he kept reassuring me that it was all okay.  We ended up sitting back down, and I ordered something very, very light.

We're still together.