Cacophonous Vomit, Or: Having an Older Sister Builds Character

I stayed home sick this past Monday, and it reminded me of when I was little and would get sick. On quite a few occasions, I'd wake up in the middle of the night and run to the toilet to throw up. Much to my sister's displeasure, I wouldn't close the door behind me. Awakened by my vomiting, she'd gently offer this suggestion:

Granted, my upchucks sound a lot like a Wookie getting punched in the stomach.

The next day, I'd stay home to leisurely enjoy my intestinal purging, and I think my sister resented this vacation that she didn't get to share. She'd sometimes call into question the authenticity of my illness:

My sister was so compelling in her rhetoric that I'd often wonder myself whether I was indeed faking it. 

Nowadays, I still hear my sister's voice in the back of my head when I call out sick, and I wonder, "Am I really and truly sick? Is it really so bad that I can't go in to work today? Or is my sister right? Am I, as I've always feared, a faker?"

But then I say fuck it and go back to bed.