When I was a girl I would periodically become afflicted with a flu-like disorder that was primarily characterised by the need to empty both my stomach and my bowels at the same moment. Sometime it was actually the flu, sometimes it was food poisoning, but quite often it was because my cousins and I had been left unsupervised at the grandparent's house and had gotten into the pantry to gorge ourselves on the over-sugared snack foods and grape-flavoured soda pop that was kept there for us. I would often find myself in the bathroom, miserably huddled with my arms wrapped around the garbage can and with a feeling in my belly as though something angry was inside me trying to tear its way out.
Imagine my dismay when, at several minutes before four o'clock this morning, I awoke to that awful monster inside me. As I lay in bed trying to will myself to death, my stomach churning with that horrible cramping, all I could think about was that my bathroom garbage can is mesh; a cleverly designed mesh that looks nicer than your run-of-the-mill waste basket and fancies up the bathroom area, and not at all suitable for vomiting into. Not only that, I haven't mixed rainbow sherbet ice cream and pickles in years, and I felt a little betrayed by my body for the state it was in.
It turns out I only needed to throw up, which I am quite good at under normal circumstances, so I was able to avoid the indignity of puking into a garbage can with holes in it.
And now I'm going back to bed.