We can only hope that Charlie’s body was fighting off whatever it was that hit Maeve hard last night. Maybe that’s why his blood sugars were insanely high for a couple days.

It was a good run for Maeve (seven years, in fact), but last night’s virus struck with a vengeance. She vomited about every 20 to 30 minutes from 8 pm to about 3:30 am. Being such a long time since she had thrown up, she was pretty hysterical at first.

But as the long night went on, she became an old pro. Her face as stark and emotionless as a runway model, she raised her head out from the bucket, dabbed a string of saliva from her lip and calmly said ...

"18," referring to the number of times she had thrown up.

It was a long, horrible night. We went to sleep at about 3:45 am and it finally appeared to be over.

Until ...

What the hell ...???

A young couple decided it would be a good idea to pull their car over outside my house, stand just under my window in the falling snow and have a massive fight at 4:42 in the mother truckin’ morning!

Are you kidding me? Tonight?

And to make matters worse, it was the most clichéd fight you could imagine. Right out of a bad movie.

"C’mon, hit me! Hit me!" he shouted.

"No! (sniffle, sniffle) I don’t want to (sniffle, sniffle)."

"Hit me!!!"

Please! Hit him, I grumbled, staring up at the ceiling with eyes wide open.

What I should have done was open the window and say ...

"Hey, this is all very fascinating, but since you’re here and awake, why don’t you make yourself useful. Charlie in room #1 can use a blood sugar check and probably a little bit of juice. Maeve in room #2 needs her temperature checked and the vomit picked from her hair. Let’s go. Chop chop!"

Of course I didn’t. I just prayed for it to end.

"No! No! No! You always do that!" he shouted in frustration.

"Just let me go!" she wimpered

"I won’t!" he said.

"I love you too much!"

Oh, no! Where’s that bucket. Now I’m about to puke!