It’s not every day that as you peruse the menu in a restaurant, a man at a nearby table starts being violently ill into what looks like the restaurant’s floor cleaning bucket. Yes, a charming way to start a meal. People at tables that were even closer to his than ours looked as though they had been caught in a gust of strong wind – all leaning away in almost identical awkward angles.
With my germ phobia and the fact that we are ill ourselves, although at the (hopefully) tail end of a virus, you can imagine how uncomfortable this made me. I know, not nearly as uncomfortable as the poor soul that was being sick was certainly.
When I inquired as to the man’s health, our impossibly pretty eastern European waitress assured us that the man and his family had not even ordered their food yet, and that he was ill from something else, NOT, she emphasised, the restaurant’s food.
The next minute the man was gone, his family had switched tables, and they were all heartily tucking into their lunch. A disgruntled looking manageress was cleaning up what hadn’t landed in the bucket. A couple at the table next to us (who had moved from the table next to his), told us the man had been put into a mysterious-sounding ‘back room’ of the restaurant.
Now I don’t know about you, but if I was that sick, and believe me when I say this man, a tiny and ancient-looking Indian man, was seriously ill, I would want to go home straight away, or, even better, the nearest hospital. But there he was probably hugging his knees to his stomach in some strange room with a ladder and bucket in it, while his family ate burgers. Had that been my family they would be struck off my Christmas present list, pronto.
I think I may be coming towards the end of my virus, at least I hope so. We’ve been ill since our holiday in France. Not as ill as Julia got, but then we are a lot larger than her with a lot more antibodies, so we were able to fight it off better than she was. She is still coughing but a lot better. Also, she doesn’t know about self pity, so unlike us she’s carrying on like business as usual.
She had some shots yesterday. It’s amazing that even at the age of 14 months, she has a good little memory on her. The minute we walked into our pediatrician’s office she took one look at him and started to cry. Fortunately the whole businesses didn’t take too long and as soon as we got home she was laughing and running around again.
This shots business is an awful necessary evil that comes around every few months or so. The doctors always tell you that your child suffering from measles, mumps or meningitis is far far worse than the occasional needle in their thigh, but you still feel bad taking them and then watching their expressions as they look at you as if to say, ‘You betrayed me!!! How could you let this man hurt me like this?!?’
To which I always reply, 'Yes I know my darling, it was your father's idea.'
On a seperate note a HUGE congratulations to our friends Anna and Elliot on the birth of their baby boy yesterday.