So, tomorrow night we open Camelot. I never thought I'd make it.
Last night, I was disturbed to see one of my nymphs (I'm surrounded by 5 of them whenever I'm onstage - they represent my magic) kept having to run out the stage door and be sick in the parking lot. This morning, I was even more disturbed to feel as wretchedly nauseated as I did.
I've never once hoped so badly that I had consumed an ill-prepared meatball hoagie. If it was the sandwich that left me on the couch all day today, then I'll be hunky dory for tomorrow. If not... I may be in misery.
I don't think my nymph nodes are swollen... (See, it's a pun on "lymph" because... nevermind. Very tired again all of a sudden.)
So - chicken foot! Bad meatballs beats pernicious gastrointestinal unpleasantness any day of the week.