*This was originally posted here under the same title.*

Once upon a time, I was sitting at my dining room table confused about what I was feeling.

Was I tired? Was I dizzy? Was I sick? Was I hungry?

Victor was in the other room fixing my internet.

Then I burped REALLY loud and realized way too late what was actually happening. Victor stopped what he was doing and asked, “Are you okay?” from the other room.

I didn’t respond because I was too busy catching vomit with my hands (I didn’t want to ruin my carpet). Victor rushed into the living room. I kept my lips shut, whimpering in disgust and embarrassment as he guided me to the bathroom (I was trying really hard not to cry/be a damsel in distress).

Did I mention I was still holding vomit in my hands?

Sadly, his efforts were in vain. I threw up again. This time, on the bathroom floor. He got a towel and placed it on the floor. I was finally standing over the toilet, but there was nothing left in my stomach.

I went to bed shortly after.

The following day(s), Victor kept imitating the noises that I had made that night.

We couldn’t stop laughing about it.

And we lived happily ever after.

The end.

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