Today's Reading from the Book of Emesis

My son, the O-Dog managed to spew the entire contents of his stomach on me yesterday morning at his Grandma's. He was running a high temperature, so my wife gave him a couple Children's Motrin to break the fever. As soon as he bit down, he gagged and dumped about a quart-and-a-half of clear milky bile all over my chest.

Aside from being immediately grossed out by the fact that my shirt was saturated with warm puke, I was concerned about my little man. My mother-in-law, meanwhile, begins tugging at my shirt to help me take it off. I think she failed to see that this was a one-man job that required the most delicate maneuvering to avoid getting a facial. After I warded her off, I managed to slither out of the shirt and come back upstairs, flashing the beer-tits and tattoos, checking on the boy and asking my father-in-law for a fresh t-shirt.

As for the O-Dog, he spent the day groggy, in-and-out of bed and woke up his usual self today, thankfully. I, on the other hand started remeniscing about the intimacy vomit plays in my existence.

I remember my dad having a few too many at Kayo and Hank's, back in the day. After yakking all over the bathroom, he'd sheepishly ask my sister Zilt to clean it up because he knew he'd catch sh*t from my mother if he'd ask her outright. My mother knew his little game and let him get away with it, sending my sister out of the bathroom. As my sister breathed a sigh of relief, my mom would clean up and my dad would stumble off to bed.

By contrast, I've always been a graceful drunk. I might have had a couple incidents here and there. Like the time I got the stiff arm from my friend Mike Szucs at a party. "Not on me, bro," he gruffed as he directed me out the screen door to puke comfortably off of the porch. I woke up the next morning hugging a garbage can full of regurgitated cream of mushroom soup.

I'm sure there are a couple other illustrious moments that escape my mind, but there can't be more than two or three more. Defecation and/or urination will have to wait for another log.

1 comment:

shannon said...

My father's vomit is the stuff of legend in my family, including "The Day We Had to Purchase a Wet Vac." Good times.