Maybe it was the one time I took the metro last week, maybe it was when I kept closing the restaurant door to keep out the cold at brunch, maybe it was the brunch! (cough, cough, sneeze - gross!) Whatever, wherever, it hit me yesterday - at work. super nul.
It's a lovely little maladie that keeps you at home - lest you want to share in the pleasure of running to the bathroom every five seconds with your colleagues - it's what the French call...Le Gastro.
Ah, the almighty gastro - spreading around Parisians on shared metro poles, Velibs handles, through airborne bits of nasty - mutating into various strains that have actually KILLED two children this year. The gastro is not to be messed with; it disrupts your entire intestinal tract and basically works to clear you of anything and everything in your system, by whatever means necessary (I'll let you extrapolate on that - you know, in your head).
If I'd had a thermometer at work yesterday, I surely would have taken my temperature, seen that I had a fever, and hit the road. But I didn't notice my flushed face until the end of the day - the cherry on top of my aches, pains, and complete lack of appetite.
Thankfully, I don't think I have the killer gastro, just a mild one (nothing like poor Copain's bout back in November). But still, this little dirt-bag has kept me home from work today, in bed until 12pm with wonky sick dreams...