Too much information about a little bull's tummy.

Where's Bully gone to? cries the blogosophere, as the little stuffed bull, so soon after his relaxing hiatus, disappears once again. Well, I've not gone back to London...I wish!...but someplace a good deal closer and more unpleasant. Following an ill-advised dinner at the snackbar of the Brooklyn Target, I came down with a light case of food poisoning, accompanied by nausea and fever all day yesterday, that was only eased by repeated visits to the bathroom to blarg up copious amounts of fluff and beans from my little stuffed stomach. Blarg! It's not fun and it's not pretty, but believe me, it was better out than in, you betcha.

The nausea and fever have gone, as have the fever-induced dreams about the episode of Doctor Who with Sarah Jane Smith (which I watched in a stupor yesterday and couldn't stop thinking about even while asleep). I feel better enough to nibble on some saltines and sip some ginger ale, and soon I'll be back up to snuff again with a lesson learned and a vow made: Target is for shopping only.

Punctilious Paul Saether points out in my comments that he thought bulls only ate grass. Well, that's kind of the problem, Paul. I s'pose I should stay away entirely from the kind of grass I like to eat:


So, now that my tender tummy is on the mend, everything I promised you (reviews, best of the year roundup) will be posted at last this long weekend. May your own meals be more settling and less repetitive!