It all started with a Cinnabon at the Charlotte Airport.
I couldn’t resist. I hadn’t had one in probably 15 years, and the novelty of it got the best of me. As I ate my ooey, gooey pile of cinnamon, frosting, and barely cooked dough, I offered Lonnie a bite, which he accepted, and then immediately regretted and said, “You are going to regret eating that thing. That is disgusting. You are going to be a mess and be whining to me any minute that you don’t feel well.” I rolled my eyes.
After our snack, we headed to the gate to wait for our plane. Panic ensued as we realized that our phones were still on Mexico time and had our flight not been delayed, we would have missed it. Even with the delay, we just made it in before they shut the doors. I think the panic and adrenaline from that was the next nail in my coffin. Next nail… we sat idling on the tarmac for a loooooong time. As I sat there feeling the plane rumble and idle, my stomach began to do the same. I was uncomfortably seated between two strange men, and Lonnie was across the aisle. I felt terrible and even pulled the puke bag to the front of the pocket “just in case.” The 2-hourish flight felt like an eternity. I sat with my eyes closed, chanting in my head “please don’t puke.” How embarrassing that would be. All I wanted in the world was for the flight to end and to be sitting beside my husband.
The flight finally ended and I thought I felt a little better the second I got off that plane. I made it through customs and luggage pick-up ok, then that queasy feeling creeped back in and I had to run to the restroom. Fortunately there was a family room, so I was at least not dry-heaving in a stall in a room full of people. After the dry heaves, I felt much better. For about 15 minutes. Back to the bathroom, and this time it wasn’t just dry heaves. And our shuttle to bring us to the car had arrived, so I felt like I had to rush… and as we all know, that stuff has a timeline all it’s own. Puking done, I felt a thousand times better and thought it was over. We boarded the van and I felt ok, until suddenly, it was back. I asked the driver to pull over. He either ignored me, or didn’t hear me. Lonnie could tell I was in trouble, so he, with much more force, said, “YOU NEED TO PULL OVER, MY WIFE IS GOING TO BE SICK.” It was too late. Puked right into my sweater which I had taken off when I started to feel hot and queasy, so that I wouldn’t make a mess of the van. Lonnie and I got out of the van and he stood by me while I continued to spew. I felt terrible for the van driver, and the unfortunate other passenger. I told Lonnie to just leave me behind and go get the car and come back for me. He was very much not a fan of this plan, but I was insistent and he finally reluctantly got back on the shuttle. The second he did so, it occurred to me that I didn’t have my phone or any way of reaching him as I was in front of a closed strip-mall with only a puke-filled sweater. I also knew he was going to have a terrible time finding the car keys because I had put them in a tiny, hidden zipper pocket in my carry-ons bag. I also know that Lonnie would be losing his shit because while he is calm and cool as a cucumber in all things in life, when it comes to my well-being, he’s kind of a mess. I knew he would be awhile, so I walked over to the Marshall’s in an attempt to find a trash can for my sweater. What strip mall has NO trash cans?? I finally gave up and just discarded on the ground.
In no time at all, Lonnie arrived to get me. I still don’t know how he managed to get back to me so quickly with the lack of experience with Boston driving, and the having to figure out how to get back to me with all the one way streets. He jumped out of the car and hugged me hard and then told me to be prepared for the mess in the car as, in his panic at not being able to find the keys, he had dumped ALL of the contents of our bags into the floor of the parking garage, once he found them, in a rush to get back to be, he just threw everything into the back seat rather than back into the bags.
I elected to drive as sometimes I have a penchant for car-sickness and I was very ready to be done with anything involving my stomach. I was only able to drive for around an hour before all of the days shenanigans hit me and I was just exhausted. Lonnie was glad to drive at this point as we were out of the city and he wanted me to try and sleep. Right about the time we hit the Maine state line, the bad weather stated. Snow, Sleet, Freezing rain and slippery roads. Interstate Speed limit down to 40. Fantastic. I slept for most of it, until suddenly that horrible, but all-too-familiar feeling came back. Lonnie quickly pulled over while I puked up things that I think I ate in 2003. It was a terrifying experience as the snow pelted me, and I helplessly watched the cars coming towards us and passing us, feeling sure someone would brake and slide into our car and cause a pile-up with me underneath. Good times.
Fortunately that was the last of the vomiting, but unfortunately we still had a loooooong way to go. Lonnie was a hero getting us home through that storm while fighting his exhaustion and his worry about my illness. He told me later that he had need to pee since Boston and used that pain and discomfort to keep himself awake to get us home. He should write his own story of that night. We should have gotten home that night around 11. We didn’t pull into our driveway until 3am.
Even though it was a horrible night on the surface, I think back fondly on it all and smile. My new husband is totally my hero, my knight-in-shining armor. I felt completely taken care of the whole evening. I never felt like a burden or like he was annoyed or frustrated by my shenanigans. I know that he is someone that I can count on and depend on. I can completely fall apart, and know without a doubt that he is there to pick up the pieces.
Never again, Cinnabon. Never. Again.