KARA: I’ve just returned from a long weekend at Brian’s family cottage in the Berkshires. Brian adores his little house in the woods. It’s quaint, it’s rustic, it overlooks a gorgeous lake. As his fiancée, I suppose I should love it too. But unfortunately the hours I spent wretching over the cottage port-a-potty have left an indelible imprint in my mind, and temporarily marred the romantic picture.
It all started at three o’clock in the morning, when shooting pains overtook my stomach and I knew I had to get to a bathroom–or else. I shook Brian awake. In the moonlight, I heard a barely audible grunt from his side of the bed. Somewhere, a cricket chirped.
“Brian, I need to get to the port-a-potty–FAST!”
He jolted upright. “What? What’s going on?”
“Puking! Bad! Outside, now!” I hissed. He took my hand and led me through the darkness, barefoot, mumbling about spoiled coleslaw and salmonella.
My future husband stood outside with me for two hours in the middle of the night, mosquitoes devouring his legs as I puked my guts out. Finally, exhausted, he took my hand and led me back inside, where I fell into a light sleep and he sprouted several mosquito bites and poison ivy.
I think I love him just a little bit more now, poison ivy and all.