A Super Bowl Party You Wouldn’t Forget

The year after Big Sister was born we threw a Super Bowl party. Our house was filled with friends and fun and we had so much food it was borderline obscene. There were all kinds of appetizers and drinks and desserts. There were wings and salsas and dips. There were even a few “party subs” from our favorite sub shop including my absolute favorite – The Classic Italian. We caught up with friends and watched football on t.v.’s stationed both inside and out back and when the party was over I had sore feet (you never really sit down when you’re hosting, right?)but a full and happy heart. The baby was asleep, the dishes were done and my husband and I climbed into bed recounting how good it was to get everyone together.

But in the middle of the night, I woke up in terror. The kind that warns you with a foreboding cold sweat, signaling vomit was imminent. I made a quick pat to my left, to tell my husband I was I sick but he didn’t respond. Pushing myself up with my right hand underneath me I flapped more frantically at him, afraid to open my mouth for fear of what might come out, but he didn’t move. As I kicked at the covers and catapulted myself from bed, I heard him throwing up in the guest bathroom. I rounded the corner to our own bathroom and quickly followed suit. In the end, about ten people got sick – all partakers in the Classic Italian sub. I later dubbed the event our very own Super Bowl hall of shame. I had wanted to make a memorable night for our guests but I guess I should have been more specific…


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