Squirrelly Is One Sick Camper
She is so sick that I'm actually worried about her. She started looking pale last night as we were out celebrating the holidays with friends.
"'Coma, I gotta go," she said in a voice that just sounded green. I've known my buddy for two decades and she was looking rough. Very much like a zombie who hasn't had his daily dose of brains for a few weeks.
We are talking rough.
"Are you alright?" I asked. My buddy looked puce.
When people turn a puce color, I start figuring one of two things, they are fixing to hurl (which I've always said I'm one's greatest support system when they are puking. Because you puke, I puke. Just how the 'Coma swings.)
Or number 2, tequila will turn you a lovely pea green color. I don't like tequila and Squirrelly won't touch it.
As she had none of number 2, I'm thinking virus. And yes, I was correct on the hurl part.
Squirrelly has had a bad three months. This is the icing on the cake.
I asked her again, "SQ, are you okay because you look like crap."
"I'm not sure," and I knew it was time to get her home pronto.
As we headed home, she said in a quiet, hushed voice, "I really don't feel well."
For those of you who know this fine woman of rodent nobility, she doesn't make a big deal out of anything. I could tell her I won the Pulitzer and she would say "Cool" and that would be that. A woman of little words, when she uses them, she means business.
As we hit the door to Chez Coma, she rushed to the bathroom, and there she stayed for much of the night. I'm talking orafice exploding sick. I've been up with her most of the night.