That One Christmas When Everyone Vomited

Long ago, somewhere in Colorado, a young Zoë awoke on Christmas morn not feeling too hot. Her stomach was churning, her head was pounding, but she was determined to open her myriad of presents beneath the tree as she had done every year. Once the gift wrap was torn, the dolls and toys seen, she climbed back up to her bunk bed and sunk into her sheets—begging for death. What on earth was wrong with her stomach? She had felt fine just yesterday, what could have infiltrated her young and thriving immune system?

Soon thereafter, a familiar sensation of nausea overwhelmed her. Thinking she was just starving after having skipped breakfast, she went downstairs to fix herself some toast—surely that would help. It did not. Before she could even bite into her warm, buttered bread slice, she promptly vomited into the kitchen trashcan. She cried out for her mommy and daddy saying how she was sick, only to discover that her parents, too, were ill. Both were in bed, groaning and sore, while her two brothers lied ill on the living room floor.

The world was collapsing; her family had succumbed to some sort of plague. This couldn't be happening on Christmas day! She began crying, worried that somehow they were all dying, and crawled into bed with mommy and daddy. Whimpering and still nauseated, she thought of her poor toys laying still and untouched. What a shame it was to be sick, when just last night, they were visited by St. Nick.

Well, that's about it. Merry Christmas!

Beware of the stomach flu.