To be or not to be the Comfort Animal…

My Fellow Inebriates,

Yesterday Miss P one-upped Miss V’s suspected bladder infection by upchucking in the school playground. Although she seemed okay by the time my mum collected her from the sick room, she soon resumed vomiting, continuing until 2:00 a.m.

If you’ve ever seen ET the Extraterrestrial you may remember that scene where ET hides in the closet among the stuffies. That was me yesterday, people. I like the kids, but when one of them is hurling stomach acid and the other is blasting room-filling farts, you don’t want to be the chosen Comfort Animal.

Miss V did produce a urine sample this morning, so my mum took both kids to the doctor to see what nasty microbes it contains.

But they didn’t come back.

I waited all day. They didn’t come.

Then at 6:00 p.m. my dad rushed in and rushed out.

And nobody came back.

I started thinking it might be okay to be the Comfort Animal. I missed them.

And then this came:

. . .