That time he was a hero and called me his wife.

A few hours before those Vegas Demons {aka alcohol and food death recipe} tried to exit my body for 6 hours straight, The Dizzle and I thought it would be a great idea to purchase tickets for that night's show of Mystère performed by Cirque du Soleil.

I had always wanted to see them in Vegas and what better time than on what could be our last trip to Las Vegas for who knows how long.

So we marched ourselves up to that counter, purchased $170 tickets for that night's 9:30pm show.

Fast forward several hours of gambling, drinking, and eating to when we decided to go up to the room and take a nap at 7pm.

You know, just a little refresher before showtime.

Well, then, you know the rest of that story.

I woke up to what would be the worst 6 hours of my life and got very acquainted with Treasure Island's Porcelain King.

But here's part of the story I didn't share yesterday.

At around 8:50pm, with a slight break in-between vomit sessions, The Dizzle kindly asked me if he thought I could make it to the show in a few minutes.

The look on my puffy, pale face must have told him enough because he promptly got on the phone and called the front desk.

He said in his most professional and grown-up voice, 

"Hello Sir, I'm having a bit of a problem. We purchased tickets to Mystère tonight, but my wife is terribly ill and we need to cancel our tickets."

My pukey, pale ears perked up at that word.

Wife?

I wondered if people were taken more seriously if they were married?

Needless to say, the front desk could not help him and he would have to go down to the ticket counter.

We agreed that if we could get a refund, we wouldn't go to the show.

But if they gave him trouble, I would try to pull it together and come down to meet him.

So he left, determined.

Several minutes passed, as well as several dry-heaves.

I gave him a call.

Things weren't looking good. They refused to refund our tickets.

I hung up the phone, took a deep breath, piled my hair on my head, put on my flip-flops, then did one last vomit for good measure.

I slowly made it down to the scene.

There was my man, standing tall at the ticket line, with the manager in tow.

I walked up to a lot of silent stares between them then showed them my best "sick" face I could muster.

Which probably took no effort on my part because I looked like hell.

But still, they wouldn't budge!

So The Dizzle asked them, 

"So you'd rather us sit in a show where my wife will probably vomit in there than refund our tickets?"

There was that word again.

But it didn't work. No refund.

You know what V Dizz also did?

He shouted to the crowd like a determined fool and tried to sell our tickets like some illegal scalper!

I've never seen such dedication!

But, of course, no one wanted to buy them from the "stubborn husband and sickly wife."

Slightly defeated, I took a deep breath, grabbed some water, and we found our seats in the auditorium.

About 3 minutes after sitting down, I had to go find the restroom.

Quickly.

I threw up what little water I had consumed, then headed back to my seat.

Then. Oh, then.

My precious Dizzle came up with a brilliant plan as I tried my hardest not to throw up on the person sitting in front of me.

He marched right back out of that auditorium and right back up to that ticket counter and said the following:

"You mentioned you couldn't refund the tickets because it's not before 4pm, correct?"

Yes.

"You mentioned that you could not refund our tickets, but you could move our tickets to another date, correct?"

Yes.

"So I would like to move our tickets to tomorrow's show. Then, I would like to cancel those tickets because it is before the 4pm deadline."

The ticket lady looked at him stunned, possibly gasped a little, told him he was very clever, then refunded the tickets.

Just.Like.That.

He came and whisked me from my seat, full of much deserved pride.

I thanked him, hugged him, kissed him, then threw up for the next 5 hours.

My hero.

...

xoxo