"I'm pregnant," I told the woman washing her windows as I vomited into the trash can at the gas pump. I'm not; I just thought the lie would alleviate the clear concern and disgust on the woman's face.

"Ain't none of my business," the woman replied. She got back in her car, pulled up to the next gas pump, got out and resumed washing her windows.

I believe in mind over matter. When your mind is plagued with a headache, it doesn't matter what else you're supposed to be doing.

This week, I was in Los Angeles for a business trip. Between leaving a coffee meeting with my agent and getting to my car to have dinner with the head writer on a new show I'm working on, I was struck with a massive migraine.

Not a painkiller in sight. It would be nice if rental cars had a little vending machine in their glove compartment stocked with the essentials one might forget on a trip. Aspirin, Tic Tacs, tampons, a sewing needle, maybe a few scratch-off lotto tickets and perhaps a blow-up doll to put in the passenger seat if you get lonely. My migraines are rare, but when they come, they are accompanied with dubious side effects if I am not able to attain painkillers in a timely manner. I had to pull off the road three times to vomit, and one time, I didn't get the door open in time. My eyes were barely open as I navigated the unknown roads. After 10 minutes of driving, I found salvation in the form of a gas station that looked as if it came straight out of "The Texas Chain Saw Massacre."

You know you're not in the safest of areas when the cashier, painkillers, 5-hour Energy drinks and Pop Rocks are all safely protected behind bulletproof glass. Walking back to my car, I met the lady washing her windows as I threw up in the trash can. I thought blaming pregnancy over a headache would be more believable. It was not. She looked at me as if I were a criminal. I wondered what she assumed was behind the barf. Did she think I was a drunk? On drugs? Patient zero of a new disease bringing about the zombie apocalypse?

Back in my rental car, I took the painkillers, rolled down the windows, reclined my seat and willingly went to sleep, hoping I would not be shot, be abducted or have my computer and wallet stolen from the very visible and very accessible passenger seat. Before I passed out, I did one last thing: texted my boss and apologized that I would be missing dinner because of a headache.

Why do the ailments that seem the most pathetic hurt the most? Even as someone who occasionally suffers from temporarily debilitating migraines, I roll my eyes anytime someone cancels because of a headache. Really? You can't power through? Please. In the past six months, I've gone to the emergency room twice for ripping off my toenail — a pain that rivaled labor, and it was just a stupid little toe — and been rendered temporarily blind by an eyelash's getting into my eye. One time recently, my legs fell asleep so badly while I was sitting on the toilet that I couldn't stand up. And just last month, I somehow sat down on the couch too hard and tweaked my back. I've missed appointments, meetings and now dinner with my boss.

And I'm a tough cookie. I power through a lot. If movement is possible, I will find a way to move. Four days before my first marathon, I broke my big toe in two places, and I still ran. (OK, mostly walked.) While bike riding in Germany, I flipped over the handlebars, breaking a few bones and dislocating my shoulder, and I still carried around a 50-pound backpack before seeing a doctor three months later.

Yet a silly headache made me a potential accomplice in grand theft auto. When you willingly fall asleep in a terrible neighborhood with the windows down and the car keys visible on the passenger seat, I'm sure any jury would find you equally guilty if you were abducted in the process of your rental car's being stolen. Not that I would have minded being abducted if the car thief had some extra-strength Tylenol on him.

Mind over matter, baby.

Katiedid Langrock is author of the book "Stop Farting in the Pyramids," available at http://www.creators.com/books/stop-farting-in-the-pyramids. Like Katiedid Langrock on Facebook, at http://www.facebook.com/katiedidhumor. To find out more about her and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate webpage at www.creators.com.