My car looked like a crime scene. A black Yukon with dark tinted windows parked at a strange angle, the nose of the car pointing straight at my house, thrown into park in a crisis. Driver door left wide open. No driver to be found.
As my husband got closer to the car, he saw vomit all over the steering wheel, chunks splattered inside of the door. Dripping from the speaker.
Whatever happened must have happened in the last hour.
He ran inside to find me laying still, eyes shut, fully clothed, a full face of make-up, hair coiffed with ample TV-ready hairspray.
Yikes, this was a bad one.
No need to call for help, he knew what had hit.
A migraine of monstrous proportions just as I was on deadline for the five o’clock newscast.
The throbbing
As my husband got closer to the car, he saw vomit all over the steering wheel, chunks splattered inside of the door. Dripping from the speaker.
Whatever happened must have happened in the last hour.
He ran inside to find me laying still, eyes shut, fully clothed, a full face of make-up, hair coiffed with ample TV-ready hairspray.
Yikes, this was a bad one.
No need to call for help, he knew what had hit.
A migraine of monstrous proportions just as I was on deadline for the five o’clock newscast.
The throbbing