Last week I got the stomach flu. Not the fun kind, not that there is a fun kind of stomach flu but I want to make clear how awful it was. It was the kind that kept me awake most of the night with sharp pain and chills that would sweep over me right before I had to run to the bathroom again. It was the kind where I felt better if I was lying on my cold ugly tile floor of the ensuite bathroom that used to be a closet and I wished still was a closet until Kenneth was born and then I was grateful to have a place far away from his bedroom to pee. And then I only felt marginally better. It was a flu that marred any desire I might have to eat sushi again as that was what I had eaten for dinner. Sushi from Makomae the highest end sushi place in our general vicinity. It had been our eighth (that is strange word construction, eighth) wedding anniversary and we wanted everyone to have a nice dinner and Makomae is higher end than we can usually afford. It was perfect, then while watching John Ford