Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Good Old Fashioned Vomit Story

So yesterday, E. and I had a plan to go to Costco and pick up some tables and supplies for the upcoming end-of-year PTA luncheon, and when I picked her up she looked ashen and pale and said she was having a bad bout of vertigo. She said she was fine to go, didn't want to let it slow her down, but she brought some big ziploc bags in case she had to barf. That should have been my first clue.

I am driving gingerly down the freeway, trying not to drive jerky, and I'm jabbering away about one thing and another, and E. is holding on tight to her plastic barf bag. We pull off the freeway, and E. readies the bag. I'm all, "Do you want me to pull over??!!" and she's all cool and like, "no its okay, I got it." and she starts puking in the bag. Poor little fanciest of the fancy white pants moms is booting in my car.

The first place I could pull over was a Kia dealership. I ran out of the car into the dealership and started shouting "Hello! Hello!" and there was no one there except for a dog who was curled up on his dog bed. Its a really good thing I wasn't in the mood to buy a car. I easily found the bathroom and the water cooler and went running back to the car (okay, walking fast. I'm not much of a runner) with wet paper towels and cold water. Poor E. is getting out of the car with her bag of puke, and that's when I start my sympathetic gagging.

I've told you about how the only person allowed to vomit anywhere near me is my kid. She has special dispensation, and magically doesn't make me gag along with her. But everyone else does make me gag. I can't be anywhere near Rob when he is sick. He has held my hair back so many times, but its a good thing he's got a buz cut because he is On His Own. So I'm really trying to be the nurturing friend, but its hard to do while you're gagging, like, "Do you need another wet towel? Haugh! Hack!" E. goes over to the dumpster and throws away her bag o' barf, and the color is already returning to her face. I ask her if she wants to go home, and she's all, "We're here now, lets just get this done." I would have been telling her to drive me to the nearest hospital and put me on an IV, but I have issues. It should be noted that not one little puke molecule got on my car. I rolled down the windows and E. said, "Sorry, does it smell?" and it didn't at all, but my brain thought it should, so I rolled down the windows.

Anyway, she's okay, but I'm still gagging, and finally I just start laughing because its so ridiculous and then it was all fine, and we had a good story. She soldiered on through Costco and Target and Old Navy and drank some diet pepsi, and I made her watch me eat an epic slice of pizza. If she could keep it down through that, she was going to be alright.

And that's what happened yesterday.

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