That should come as no shock to anyone who knows me or has read this post. Though I'll admit that if I had to choose one place to be violently ill, it would be my mom's house. I honestly laid there in her beautiful bedroom feeling like I was dying and thinking about how grateful I was that this wasn't happening back on the island. I consider it one of my greatest blessings that I never threw up in that revolting Statian bathroom.
The sickness only lasted about three hours, during which time Jon single-handedly prepared the house for my parents' homecoming. The plan was that I would help him, but then I threw up, so. He was also nice enough to clean toilets for me so I would have my choice of vomitorium. I got the best husband, sorry everyone else. [TANGENT: I was reading the blog of an acquaintance (one I suddenly hope doesn't read mine) a while back. She was bragging about how her husband was the BEST EVAR because he made dinner, did a load of laundry, AND played with the baby ALL IN ONE WEEKEND!!!!!! Isn't it funny what people reveal about themselves, and their husbands, without even realizing it? I had a visiting teacher who once began her message with, "I love saying prayers with my spouse. It's that one time of day that we're equals..." My eyebrows met my hairline.]
CONCLUSION: In checking my spelling on "vomitorium" I learned that the word actually has nothing to do with vomiting, other than an untruth about ancient Romans binging and purging. Nothing worse than realizing you've been a perpetuator of lies!!! Which isn't to say I'll stop using the word in that context. History/architecture lesson: "Vomitorium" really means a series of exits out of Forums and Colosseums and other such buildings where far more wicked, barbaric savagery was happening than binge-and-purge. They might have reveled in watching humans being eaten alive by wild animals, but they did NOT throw up their food on purpose. That's disgusting.
PS - My apologies for this entire post.