Hark!

Oh boy howdy what a weekend it was.  Most especially in our plans!  We were going to...
...eat barbecue!

drink beer and wine!...

...enjoy the town!

And then, something (SALMONELLA AND GIARDIA) decided it would be a good idea (WORST IDEA EVER!) to pay a little visit to our friends (OUR STOMACHS!)

Topher and I had been exchanging some stimulating texts via our notsmart phones the past week in anticipation of our great weekend wherein we were ordered, via ourselves, to celebrate! and be merry! and we had ordered this unto ourselves a whole year prior, in fact!

And these texts really got me all hyped up, you know?! Like, I was really ready to go! 

Tuesday passed, and we were excited.

Wednesday came, and we were excited.

Then Thursday hit, and we were in the bathroom.  And Topher had a fever. And body aches. And things that were supposed to stay inside his tummy had the gall to come back out into the world! And it was like our bodies were making a travesty of our best laid plans! And they were saying unto us, like heralded angels singing:

'Hark! The stomach shall prevent you from enjoying your best laid trip plans! Get thee to bed and forget all fun desired! And, also, Glory to the newborn King!'

Having never been ones to listen to heralded angels, we took our chances and sought out after that illustrious weekend we'd held in our hearts for three hundred and sixty days.

And so we spent a good majority of our weekend like this:

grin and bear it! and sometime, please, get out of that hotel bed!

and forcing down all the good food we could, despite loud and angry protests from those terrible tummies. 

Down with you tummies! Thou shalt not squire us away into misery! Thou shalt not prevail!

Hark, the herald angels sing!

Christmas Cheer Shall Prevail!