My stomach was feeling vaguely cranky as I set out for the hills to take motorcycle pictures. I figured I was just hungry, so I stopped and grabbed a donut and some orange juice.
On the way home, I stopped to watch Kevan play poker, and then we went out for a late lunch. I was feeling run-down and my stomach was still a bit upset, so I had the only thing on the menu that looked edible-- a chicken caesar salad. The drive home was difficult-- I was stuck in traffic, and all I wanted to do was go home and take a nap. I finally got home, and fell into bed without even taking my clothes off.
Maybe fifteen minutes after that, I was in the bathroom and my body was saying, "Yo, dude. I object strenuously to something you ate, and I'm going to make you miserable for a while." I've spent the last six hours curled up in bed, punctuated at 45-minute intervals by dashes to the bathroom wherein my body uses every method at its, err, disposal to get rid of the offending food.
The kicker? I'm about 90% certain it was the tuna I bought at Costco.