I woke up to the white light of the sun piercing through the curtains. My head felt like someone was hitting me with a sledge-hammer. As I turned over in the bed I saw my cute man look at me and ask, “Baby, are you ok?” I didn’t say anything because my mouth tasted like road kill and I was afraid that my fermented breath would reach his nostrils. So I started rolling out of bed to go to the bathroom and could feel my insides drowning in a few bottles of white wine that my friends and I thought were a good idea the night before.
As I stumbled into the washroom I started to vomit violently, the whole time crying and praying for God to kill me. Then suddenly I felt two warm arms embrace my body and my cute man’s chest press against my back. “Its ok baby, better out than in,” he said as he flushed the toilet for my second round of puke. What was he doing?
Most women… or men, always dream of their man showering them with love even though they might look like something you pull out from under the 501 street car. However, all I wanted to scream was, “Don’t f*#$ing touch me!!!”
I was able to allow my cute man to take care of me but then my ego finally took over. I looked at him and tried to muster up my sweetest tone of voice when I said, “Honey I can’t have you look at me while I am vomiting.” He retreated towards the bedroom with concern in his eyes, and every now and then he would peek into the washroom to see how I was doing.
Should I have let go of my ego and let him take care of me while I was dry heaving? Or should there be some things a lover should never witness? Maybe I have been single for so long that I am used to partaking in the hangover dance within the privacy of my own apartment. But the real lesson here is maybe we should let go of our vanity and let our men…… love us. Even if we look like a scene from the Exorcist.