Hey, I’m here. I’m not dead or anything. Just really, really lazy. I mean busy. Yes, that’s what I meant.
To tell you the truth, I’ve been feeling terribly uninspired for the past few days. Until just a few minutes ago. When I was reminded about puke. Because, I figure, everyone likes a good puke story.
It happened years ago, when I was just a wee child. My mom had taken us to a movie. I’d love to tell you I got sick off popcorn and candy and sugary beverages and vomited peacefully while Peter Pan zipped across the screen refusing to grow up. But that’s not what happened.
You see, I don’t do anything the easy way. Especially when it comes to throwing up. It’s a violent experience. Internal organs feel like they’re going to retch up through my throat. Blood vessels in my face burst open. And the sounds. Oh the sounds. I imagine it’s pretty close to what it would sound like if a zombie and a tiger went head-to-head.
It’s all very undignified, I assure you.
On this particular day, years ago, I learned just how undignified it could get. We left the theater safely. No hint of vomit anywhere. As I recall, I felt fine. But something was brewing. Oh yes indeed it was. Next it was off to get lunch. And that’s when things got ugly.
I’m sure I must have told my mom something was wrong as we stood in line waiting for our food. And I’m sure she said something sweet about making it better as soon as we sat down. But she couldn’t have known what was coming. She couldn’t have known there were just mere seconds before I would singlehandedly bust open a portal to hell up in that Carl’s Jr.
Again, it would be nice to tell you that I skipped away to the bathroom and let loose in a toilet like a normal person. Or that I ran outside and let it fly into a nearby bush. Or even that I discreetly did it in a corner of the restaurant somewhere.
Instead, I let loose a stream of projectile vomit all over the self-serve beverage station. Yep, I sure did. And all anyone could do was stare in amazement at the girl who was convulsing and making noises like a dying sea lion.
And that’s the last thing I remember. But I feel fairly confident that I did not get fries with that. So, friends, here’s another little tidbit to stash away in your stalker file. I suspect some of you might think twice before inviting me out to lunch now, though.