For your spouse to cook up a batch of spicy jambalaya (a smell you aren't particularly fond of at any time), complete with Cajun sausage so the smell wafts through the house and up to the bathroom floor upon which you are curled in a ball, moaning between bouts of norovirus-induced exploding, or for him to come upstairs a while later, under the pretense of "checking on you" and instead cheerfully announce that you, his miserable, wretched, sick wife, are "the LOUDEST barfer in the world" as though *that* is supposed to bring comfort to you in your time of need?
Yeah, let's just keep the pithy comments to ourselves and only bring me ginger ale and saltines, mmmkay? Or actually, hold the saltines, 'cause they aren't my friends yet either.
Oh, and other "fun" things I'd prefer to avoid include having company in the bathroom, especially of the Five Year Old Mini-Howard Cosell, Play-by-Play variety, during times like this. Just sayin'.
I wonder if this norovirus will help undo what all that Halloween candy did, at least..... that can be my silver lining!