Ill communication

Ohhhhhhhhhhh. Me no feel so good. A couple of days before we left Philadelphia, little Eva came down with a nasty little stomach bug. By the time we left, Yia Yia, Nik, Young and Pegs had all come down with the same thing. We looked into changing our flight to Las Vegas, but in the end we decided to fly out rather than hang around Sick Central for another day. The day after we arrived, I woke up with an odd sensation in my stomach that I initially assumed was a hankering for Taco Bell, but ended up being a mutant strain of dysentery. For the next six hours I had the taps open at both ends; each time I went into the bathroom I had to flip a coin to decide which orifice was going to hit the can first. Pegs is still feeling the effects two days later; her stomach is distended like a beach ball, and I've got worse chills and shakes than Ewan McGregor in Trainspotting. The only good news is that Sofia hasn't caught anything yet; we're keeping our fingers crossed that she steers clear of this one and that we manage to shake it before everyone else arrives. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment with a toilet.