Sick and the City – Part 1

28 Mar

As a 33-year-old lover of fashion, shoe obsessive and stalker of Carrie Bradshaw, I am finally getting to go to the one place I have wanted to go ever since I got my first Friends box set. I am going to New York!

I am going to buy so many clothes, shoes and bags. I am going to walk into Manolo Blahnik and try on every pair. I am going to eat gorgeous seafood in chic restaurants and drink cosmopolitans until they are coming out of my ears. In short, I. Am. Going. To. Be. Fabulous.

Of course, what I never factored into this equation of total fabulousness was that I would be pregnant and suffering from the evil that is constant nausea and extreme tiredness. Morning, noon and night.  On top of which I also developed a chest infection, a constant cough and a high temperature on the plane over. Carrie Bradshaw I was not.  More like Carrie from Stephen King.

Poor hubby, he had visions of us waking late, taking a stroll to a new part of city we’ve hadn’t yet explored, enjoying a lazy brunch in one of the many cafes we had researched before our arrival. In reality, I was awake at 5.30am on the dot demanding he went downstairs to the hotel restaurant to “FIND ME TOAST BEFORE I PUKE” which I then proceeded to eat in bed, crumbs everywhere, shoving it in my face like I’d never eaten before. Poor hubby, he looked like he was going to be sick.

I should probably explain that we are a couple who love eating. We talk about food constantly. At breakfast we discuss what we’re going to have for dinner. Our ‘big shop’ is a weekly highlight, and going to the supermarket genuinely excites us. Feeling sick was NOT an option. But I’m pregnant and my body had decided otherwise.

Day one, post toastgate, I’m full of bread and rice cakes (or my comfort blanket as I now like to think of them) yet we decide to try Katz’s deli for lunch and do the ‘tourist’ thing. If you don’t know it, it’s where Meg Ryan faked the orgasm in ‘When Harry met Sally’. I wasn’t too bothered about it, but hubby really wanted ‘Pastrami on Rye’ I on the other hand just wanted to say ‘Pastrami on Rye’ in a New York accent.

In we go and it’s packed, which can only be a good sign, surely? We sit down and are served a plate of pickles (a NY delicacy apparently). I love pickles, well, I love gherkins (even before being up the duff) and there were plenty for me to munch on. However, what I have never seen before, never want to see again and certainly don’t love…are pickled tomatoes. Yes, that’s right, luminous green, giant vinegary tomatoes put down on the table like some kind of alien hors d’oeuvre for me to consume.  Not sure if it’s because I’m pregnant, but pretty sure it’s because they are simply VILE, but cue much retching from the lady with the baby.

By the time the ‘Pastrami on Rye (said in NY accent’) comes, I’m too nauseous to even it eat. Actually I’m fibbing, I did eventually force myself to try a little bit and it was the most horrendous thing I’ve ever eaten. The only thing I can liken it to is lemon washing up liquid. It certainly was not meat. I don’t know what Sally had, and I certainly don’t want it, but I can guarantee you whatever was in her mouth to make her react like that was not Harry’s pastrami.

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