Long ago in a galaxy far, far away…[screech]…in the olden days…sigh, I’ve watched way too many movies and have read way too many books to be serious as I begin the vomit story…
When I was young, mom, dad and I moved into a second floor farmhouse apartment conversion. Our ‘landlords’ lived right below us. Both Liz and mom were pregnant at the same time and Laney arrived first, four months later came my turd brother, Art. Liz and W had an older daughter, Laurel*. I was the oldest of all of us.
Art and Laney were two peas in a pod. Up and down between our homes constantly. As toddlers they shared bottles – if Art had juice and Laney had milk, or vice versa, they would swap. We learned early on that if things got quiet we needed to find them in a hurry because they had such inate curiosity and were basically fearless together that we never knew what they were in to or up to. As the oldest child (6 years on Laney and Art, 4 years on Laurel), I often failed in my watching duties, but no one ever blamed me (that I can recall). These two were sneaky, in a completely innocent way.
One day the mothers and us kids went on a shopping trip. All I can recall is that there was some place that had exceptionally good prices on something (shoes? clothes? both?) and we were off to that location. In terms of ages, Art and Laney were about 4 years old, which would make Laurel 6 and me 10.
Laney came upstairs, as she usually did – whoever of the two of them was basically up first made it to the other’s home. Mom was making pancakes for Art and me and asked Laney if she’d had breakfast yet. Laney said no and that was that. Laney had a full pancake breakfast with us.
Liz drove her car and all us kids were in the back seat. Liz had seat covers in her car, which, in the end, was probably a saving grace for the car, but not us.
We got caught up in a downpour. I’m not talking any rain storm, but a torrential downpour where you can’t see more than a foot in front of you. Because it was raining so hard we had to have the windows up. That’s where things went sideways. It was a hot day and it became stifling in the car. Laney puked BOTH breakfasts up. Yep, she’d had a second breakfast at our place, because, hey, who wouldn’t want pancakes??!! And that’s when the smell became a chain reaction. Not one of us kids held back. We contributed to the vomitus and the smell. At one point we were rolling down the windows just to get air, who the hell cared about getting wet at that point.
When we were all sufficiently suffering, my mom said that we were close to my godmother’s house and we could pop by and see if we could use her laundry. Thankfully Yvonne was home and we all recovered and cleaned up in her house. Remember those seat covers? They made cleaning up the car so much easier, though I don’t recall what had to happen to get rid of any lingering smell.
and here we are at today
It was during my university years I learned that if I was out partying (like every Friday night) and I visited the bathroom, if someone had puked or was puking, I immediately had to puke too. So I tried this: if I felt like I was going to puke, I clenched my teeth to try and hold it back. BAD idea. Ever had puke come out your nose? You would think stomach acids would burn the nasal passages so that you didn’t smell anything. Think again. And because I like visuals, cleaning up the crap in my nose was always fun…NOT.
Fast forward to November last fall. I knew that I was going to puke, there’s just something in the amount of spit you get in your mouth, practically drooling out your mouth that leads a person to RUN to the porcelain bowl. I made it to the toilet and, no joke, tried to hold my nose. That didn’t help either. Something about needing to breathe might have had something to do with it.
Let’s just say, puking is definitely a top 5 item on the “please dog, never again”. And I’m convinced the horror of that day in the car is why the smell of puke is still a trigger to making me puke to this day.
* The names of the innoce…wait, questioning the use of “innocent”…..but none of them asked to be featured in my blog, so I’m changing names to be considerate. My brother, however, is named. Take from that what you will. 🤪
And that, my friends, is the vomit story.
Live. Laugh. Thrive.❣