Hush, Little Girl…

So, the past few weeks I’ve been getting these really horrible stomach aches. I usually get them when I either drink too much alcohol, or when I get in a fight with Christopher (he gives me ulcers on top of everything else), but he and I haven’t had any knock-down drag-outs lately, and I haven’t had more than just a glass of wine here and there, so I couldn’t figure out what was causing them.
The stomach aches are pretty bad and when I have them, I can’t eat at all… even when I’m hungry…
I went to the doctor for my routine blood test (which I have to do every 6 weeks to check my thyroid levels because my piece of shit little thyroid decided at some point that it didn’t want to work very hard and preferred to go on welfare, and just expected my health insurance to pick up the tab on the thyroid pills that supplement the hormones that thyroid doesn’t produce any longer). So while I’m at the doctor, I mention my stomach aches and she tells me that maybe I should stop drinking alcohol altogether and stop eating spicy foods, blah, blah, blah.
When the blood tests come back, doctor calls me and says that they think they’ve found traces of a arsenic in my blood. They want to re-test. I figure this is just another example of the ineptitude of my doctor’s office (they’ve screwed up more tests than you can imagine. I once got a call saying they accidentally ran my pap smear as a throat culture… which as the ladies know– a pap smear is not something that anyone finds particularly enjoyable, nor would they want to repeat it because the dumbass in the lab can’t figure out that my pussy doesn’t have strep.). But we re-test.
Sure enough… arsenic. How the hell did I ingest arsenic??? I wonder… it’s not like I keep rat poison in my house and it could have accidentally come into contact with my food. Then I remember Christopher mentioning that he’d seen a mouse at his apartment and was going to buy poison to kill it…
Surely, Christopher wouldn’t be stupid enough to let the poison get near the food…
Then… I read Christopher’s post on starving me to get me to shut up. No… he wouldn’t really do that, would he?
Arsenic poisoning equals loss of appetite. Loss of appetite means quiet, chill chill Christine…
Hrmmmmm….
Maybe he would… I think torture until a confession is made, is certainly in order on this one.

BTW… this post is about as true as Christopher’s post about me stabbing him. If he can take creative license, so can I.