The alarm clock said 1:13 AM and my head was aching. It might have been one too many beers sitting by the campfire last night, or too much Thanksgiving turkey, stuffing, and mashed potatoes. Either way, I needed some Advil.
Considerate husband that I am, I left the room dark, somehow managing to avoid stubbing my toe as I worked my way over to the closet where we keep the basket of cold and flu medication.
You know what I’m talking about, the little plastic bin where you chuck all the leftover Nyquil, Sudafed, Extra Strength Tylenol, maybe some Preparation H or Athlete’s foot cream. Everyone has one of these little Pandora’s boxes of over-the-counter drugs, ready for the next breakdown of the machine.
Anyway, it was dark, but I knew the Advil must be sitting somewhere near the top. I pulled the bin down from the shelf and reached inside, feeling my way among the many bottles, tubes, and packets for some pain relief. My head was really pounding.
Ah, there it was; I couldn’t see it, but I knew by the size it must be the little bottle of generic Ibuprofen I’d bought a few weeks back at the airport gift shop.
Luckily the tiny arrows on the cap were lined up, so I popped the cap open and fingered three caplets from within, then left the whole mess on the bathroom counter to deal with in the morning. I swallowed the pills, chased them with a big glass of water, took a leak, and went back to bed.
It was less than three hours later that I woke to a strange rumbling sound. My head was still pounding, but it was as nothing compared to the gurgling beast that had come alive within my lower intestine. Remembering that old joke about the difference between diarrhea and the shits, I leaped out of bed and ran for the toilet.
Fifteen minutes passed and I emerged from the throne room, feeling a little better but still far from out of the woods. I turned on the bathroom light and reached for the drug basket. Well, silly me, there were actually two identically-shaped bottles sitting inside, one containing generic Advil, the other with maximum-strength stool softener. Guess which one I’d taken?
So I took some Advil this time, grabbed a book from the nightstand, headed back to the toilet, and settled in for a long morning.
Next time I’m going to turn on the lights when I look for the Advil.
P.S. In case you haven’t heard the joke: it’s diarrhea if you make it to the toilet, and it’s really the shits if you don’t.