Choices

Yesterday I had a rather interesting choice placed before me: I could see the Queen of England, or vomit on the sidewalk. To be really honest, neither option appealed to me much.
Richard and I had walked downtown so I could return some library books, and halfway up a set of stairs leading from the river valley I was suddenly very, very sick (stomach flu, as it turned out). I knew I had to get to a restroom, fast. But when we reached the top of the stairs, police cars were parked everywhere and most of the block was cordoned off because Her Majesty was minutes away from stepping out of the Hotel McDonald. We had to be escorted across the street, and once there I had to decide: Wait and see the Queen, or dash another block to the library before I had to hurl? Hmm. Decisions, decisions. I thought, "Oh, screw it, she never does anything interesting anyway," and hurried away while Richard waited in the crowd. He said the Queen came out in a huge, white fur coat and hat even though it wasn't a cold day, and Prince Philip waved to the crowd. Meanwhile, I made it to the library just in time and have no real regrets.