Friday Favorites: Karma

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from Justin Timberlake (as if there’s only one thing), it’s the true nature of karma. Did he not say “What goes around, goes around, goes around comes all the way back around. Ya-ah-a-a-ahhh.” Well friends, he did.

My bouts with karma, especially food karma, usually end bitterly and in the bathroom where I find myself doubled over, the stale taste of fate thick on my tongue.

When Chris gets sick it normally means a week of coughing, sniffling and sneezing, but that’s pretty much all. So the day I came home at noon and found him curled up on the couch, I gingerly stepped back through the entryway, shut the door, examined the apartment number, blinked, blinked again, examined the number again and retried my key.

Chris never gets sick.

Here he was pale, gaunt, lethargic, feverish and sweaty and I still didn’t buy the act. I kept thinking (and vocalizing), “How sick could he (you) possibly be?”

A few hours later he sat up like a zombie corpse, ran to the bathroom, slammed the door and heaved his guts out. I waited by the door, my apology at the ready (because I wanted to see if he actually puked). After 20 minutes I whispered, “Honey?” I cracked the door open to find Chris in fetal position on the matchbook-sized bathroom rug. Apparently he really was sick.

For an entire week, Chris split his time between comas on the couch and vomiting spells in the bathroom. After each upheaval he’d lay by the toilet for at least an hour, too weary to resume his couch coma.

Here’s the part where you discover the degree of my evilness – I still couldn’t believe it was that bad.

Fast forward to about a week later. Chris and I went to Colorado for Thanksgiving. We had an uneventful six-hour drive and arrived to the aroma of mom’s homemade pizza wafting through the front door. We ate, then tucked ourselves into bed.

Two hours later, I sat up like a zombie corpse (I think you know where this is going), ran to the bathroom, slammed the door and heaved my guts out. Then I collapsed on the rug and curled up in fetal position. Bleary-eyed, Chris stumbled into the bathroom, saw my pathetic state and carried me back to bed. Because he is not me, there were no pointed fingers, no know-it-all cackles, no “I told you sos,” just a sweet, empathetic husband carrying his evil callused wife back to bed.

I was on the brink of death. My stomach ruptured at the mere thought of food. I’ve never been so sick in my life.

Or more aware of the power of karma.

Having Justin Timberlake's words of karmic wisdom reminding me to be careful who I tease is my favorite.

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