Sleepless in Seattle....'er, Portland

Dang!  I hate sleepless nights!

Especially when indigestion is involved.  Frankie says it's my own fault.  Yeah, Yeah, I know it is. Yesterday I fixed myself a cheese/tuna sandwich for linner (late lunch/early dinner). Big mistake, I like tuna, and I sure had a hankering for it yesterday, so I opened a can and dumped the whole can on one of the slices of bread, plopped cheese on top of it, added condiments, threw a handful of crackers on the plate and sat down to eat.  The sandwich tasted really good.

I was hoping I would not suffer later on from over indulging on tuna, but (sigh) I did.  How come nobody ever tells you when you get old some of your most favorite youthful foods will not 'sit' well as you age.  Oh, I suffered...I suffered.

Not thinking, later in the evening, I decided maybe a bit of something 'bubbly' might help with the icky feeling, and constant burping and opened a can of soda.  Yeah, buddy....this will certainly help.

Haaaaaa, haaaaaaa, haaaaaaaa, haaaaaaaaa, haaaaaaa.

Wait a minute, I've got to catch my breath.

Baaaaaa, hhhhhhaaaaaaa, haaaaaaaa.

Oh, brother, not only did the bubbly not help, it made matters worse.  I finally told Frankie I was going to bed, and to lock up and turn out the lights when she was ready to do the same.  I didn't want her to see how much I was suffering.

Needless to say, I spent the night devouring antacid tablets, and resetting my TV at 90 minute intervals to turn itself off.  I did this, ALL night.  This morning I was exhausted...I managed to heave myself out of bed around 7:30, fed my furry friends and flopped on the sofa.  I told myself I would get up and dressed as soon as the house warmed.

Enter Frankie:

Frankie: "Well, well, well, don't you look awful."
Me:  "Shut up."
Frankie:  "I told you, I told you...don't eat tuna."
Me:  "I've no idea what you're talking about."
Frankie:  "Sure you do.  I heard you, shuffling around your room, up and down, up and down.  I also heard you channel surfing.  I also heard an occasional snore.  You...(picture her poking me on the chest with a bony index finger) should never, never, ever eat tuna.  AND never, never, ever buy it anymore either."

Frankie is getting herself into a dither.  She plops down, squishing me against Zorro and Zorro against the back of the sofa.  I sense I'm in for a lecture.  And, I get one about knowing how some foods do not 'sit' well with me anymore, and how come I don't have the sense to avoid them, and imagine how much money we could save if I didn't buy them and then have them sit in the cupboard for months, and months, and MONTHS.

Me: (Properly chastised) "I know, but it was so delicious at the time."
Frankie:  (Having run out of steam and running a hand through my bed-head hair) "Get up, you really do look awful."

She could have stopped with that, but no, not Frankie.  She rose, and as a parting shot she tells me the remaining cans of tuna will be devoured by CC, not me.

Frankie headed to the kitchen.  "You want something to eat?"

I contemplate that for a minute or two, then my mummy gave a familiar and friendly growl. "Yes, please, I think a cup of tea and some soda crackers would really hit the spot."

Sometimes that girl comes in pretty handy.