Last night, Senor and I had nachos for dinner. I'm sure my mom would be horrified that I offered my "family" nachos for dinner, but I reasoned that they had a lot of tomatoes and avocados on them, and the ground beef would not go bad before being used this week, and cheese has calcium... these are all very good things.
And they tasted great! I made way too much, but whatever...
So why, then, did I find myself waking in the middle of the night with a racing heart and a feeling that something was definitely not quite right... Did I forget to set my alarm? Lock the front door? Was I nervous about anything? Had I had a bad dream? Or maybe... WAIT, I KNOW!! And off I ran to the senorita's room. Lest you think it was the other thing, I had myself a little puke.
It wasn't the booze, I swear. That still happens every once in a while, though I'm much too old for that. But not this time. This was dinner rebelling. It was strange, though, because it was SO MANY HOURS LATER! There's was hardly any dinner left. It was almost breakfast time. So why? Why did my lovely sleep get interrupted by a vengeful dinner that had seemed so friendly?
No one can say for sure. Senor was fine.
No, it wasn't morning sickness.