I am sitting at dinner and there is this couple there. I know the woman a bit; nice, intelligent woman, but rather high maintenance and insecure. She is there with her boyfriend of a month, the first since her divorce.

The guy’s an ass. He is pompous, self-serving, and worse … he relates a story about last night, how his girlfriend, well, um, did not have the sexual prowess that he felt she should. And yes, he shared too much. How dare he denigrate his date, ever, but especially in public.

This really pissed me off, but I smiled and kept changing the subject. His date did not seem to really care, but I don’t buy that.

Single Dad, who cares? Isn’t this blog about Pearlsky?

The topic moved to kids, specifically when they start calling and dealing with the opposite sex. Everyone had a story. I had no problem with this, several people knew about Pearlsky and David, it was fine. But I was thinking … what if this puke asks about my kids? He has no clue about them.

I decided I would smile and say I didn’t have kids.

It is the first time I would have ever done that. I think it is because he is the last person on earth (well, probably not) that I would want to explain anything to.

But I feel dirty.

Just a normal evening. Pearlsky was in her play area just hanging out and her geek dad was actually working on the new look for his blog (very early preview here).

About seven-thirty I started feeling a bit queasy, and by eight o’clock I was in full fledged “hugging the porcelain throne” mode. I was retching pretty hard, and I won’t go into detail as Ken might, it was not pretty. All I had to eat all day was a tuna sandwich four hours earlier, no clue what was up.

Ever since the incidents with my back, I always have either a help-I-can’t-get-up thingy with me, or my cell phone. This was a bad situation, I was on the bathroom floor, weak and dizzy. Being the macho moron I am, I knew it would get better, I’d be fine, and I would be able to deal with Pearlsky.

I could not get up and about twenty minutes later, well, let’s say I was using the toilet for the other end … my other end.

One of the few times in my life I really reached out, I texted our primary nanny “need help.” Just then an ex-nanny, and dear friend, happened to call and just said “I am coming over with my husband” before I could say “no.”

The toughest part in the emergency room was when a woman came by with her computer to register me while I was on a gurney. At one point she asked, “Is your emergency contact still your father?” Ouch. Ummm, no, he died. Then I could not think of who to appoint. Mom is getting on in years, and what is an “emergency contact” anyway? Who to call if I die? Took me all too long to come up with a name. That sucked.

The nanny was able to come and stay overnight. What if she could not? Who do we get to take care of our kids in an emergency? Is there anyway a nurse off the street would have a clue? How to document everything? How many trained caretakers are enough? Why should they drop everything in an emergency to help? Should I have just brought Pearlsky with me to the emergency room? Thought of doing that …

Turns out either food poisoning or a norovirus.

Ever tell you I have a low tolerance for residents?

Your blood work is fairly normal.

Fairly?

Yes, all the numbers are in the normal range.

Then what did you mean by “fairly”? What would make the blood work “normal”?

He just walked away.

Just heard on the television, just now, Madonna says that being a single mom raising four children is “challenging.”

Up yours, Madonna.