TGIF my friends and fellow humans! So, how do you like my new blog so far? Comments are welcome. I have been working hard to please you. The website is almost finished. I just have a few loose ends. In the meantime, please enjoy my Friday frolicking on the delicate subject of Vomit. As always, you are welcome!
Hurl. Upchuck. Pray to the porcelain goddess. Lose your cookies. Purge. Puke. Barf. Heave. Retch. Spew. Throw up.
Vomiting is nasty fact of life; but, unless you are ten years old and trying to impress your friends with throaty, upchuck sounds, it’s a subject not normally included in polite societal interaction.
There are exceptions, of course.
Illness: Some illnesses come with the unfortunate side-effect of vomiting. Examples include the stomach flu, migraine headaches, food-poisoning, etc. I’ve had them all at one time or another, and it was not pretty. Once upon a time, when I was around 34 or so, I had a three-day headache that kept me in bed or wrapped around the toilet round-the-clock. It was a Spewtastropny! A Barfageddon, if you will. My then husband took me to the emergency room, stopping twice on the way to hold my hair back while I retched and he dry-heaved. So romantic! No? Turned out the doctor’s diagnosis was, “Yep, you sure do have a headache, and a doozy, at that!” He sent me home to continue my purge-quest. Thanks, Doctor Do-Very-Little!
Self-inflicted illness. Aka, Drunken Stupor: We’ve all been there. Special Occasions. Celebrations. Twenty-first birthday parties. Clubbing. Tuesdays. Whatever way you arrive at the puke-point, the end-result is the same. A lot of perfectly good alcohol down the drain. Sad. Once upon a time, I was in the Air Force and stationed in Turkey. My boyfriend had just won a golf-tournament and we were the guests of honor at the awards ceremony. Libations flowed, especially this delightful wine called Mateus Rose.
There were several chilled bottes placed on every table. My boyfriend didn’t drink, and he was slightly ignoring me while he basked in all the congratulatory bliss. So, I poured myself a glass of wine, and then a second, and a third and so on and on. We made it home without incident, but as soon as my boyfriend carried my drunk ass to bed, I promptly threw up all over his side of the bed. That would teach him to ignore me! Ha! But, alas, he just left me lying in my nastiness, and slept on the couch. I have never had a drop of Mateus Rose since.
Scared shitless – vomit as a second option: Have you ever been so nervous or scared about something, your body takes command and makes you heave like there’s no tomorrow? Yep, me too. Once upon a time, I was attending Non-Commissioned Officer training in the Air Force, and each of us had to give a speech before we could graduate. I was prepared. My speech was flawless, complete with a couple of witty jabs at our instructor. My hair and uniform were impeccable, and my shoes shined like glass. I was just fine until the instructor called my name. “Sergeant Sonoda, you’re next.” I immediately began to tremble, as I gathered my index cards and other visual aids and approached the podium. I remember my legs were weak as I tried to walk and my knees felt like they would buckle any minute. I made it to the podium, and grabbed hold of it like it was a floatation device and I was drowning. I took a deep breath, checked my index cards, then looked up at the audience. That is when I felt it. I knew it was coming, and I was helpless. I threw down my index cards, and put both hands over my mouth, and all hell broke loose. I vomited all over that podium. My instructor tried to help by handing me a towel, and I’m quite sure I left him a yucky souvenir on his perfectly pressed uniform. It was a stellar day. I did graduate, but I think it was only because that instructor hoped to never see me again.
I hope you enjoyed my little journey back in time. Please share your Vomit-Worthy adventures with us in the Comments! You know you want to! We don’t judge. We love you!