If you have a weak stomach, it's best to move along now
Last night began pleasantly enough. The kids went home on time, I had 90210 to watch and leftovers to eat, and I needed to make a quick trip to the Price Chopper. Clary B. visited with our neighbor Green Thumb while I was at the store, and when I went to retrieve her, she was v. happy to see me in her cute doggy way. We came home and settled down, ready for a night of high school nostalgia.
Except...except...remember that scene in The Goonies when Chunk confesses his prank at the movie theater? You know, the one where he pretends to throw up, and in doing so makes other people actually throw up in a visceral chain reaction? If so, I think you can imagine where this story's headed.
Several minutes into the Brenda/Brandon drama, Clara opened her mouth and barfed up what must have been 6 cups of cat food. Steaming, gloppy, swollen chunks of cat food, undoubtedly stolen from Green Thumb's big bag o' cat food. And then she did it again. And then the liquid began to separate from the solids, and the liquid started running toward the bookshelf, at which point I ran into the kitchen for paper towels and cleaner. And as I bent over, scooping up hot jellyish cat food barf with my paper towel-covered hand, I started to retch. And then Clara attempted to eat the cat food hurl, which made it worse. But I couldn't stop scooping and mopping since the barf juice was running toward the bookshelf and Clara kept trying to lick it up, so I just kept cleaning and retching. And then I barfed, too, right on top of the cat food barf. And then I did it again. And then I had to clean up not only Clary's barf, but my chicken dinner barf as well, dry heaving all the while. And when all the cleaning and barfing and retching was done, I called Petunia's cell phone to tell her that she can never, ever leave us again.
Petunia called back just a few minutes later and I told her what happened. I even managed to laugh a little, because the whole thing was pretty funny in a junior high kind of way. But then Clary barfed a third time--a smaller amount, mercifully--and Petunia got to hear me dry heave on the phone with her.
Some couples have phone sex; we have long distance dry heaving. We're romantic like that.
The good news: Clara's fine today. Me, too.
The bad news: I need to buy another bag of cat food for Green Thumb. Five dollars says the smell of the food through the bag makes me retch.
Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!
Except...except...remember that scene in The Goonies when Chunk confesses his prank at the movie theater? You know, the one where he pretends to throw up, and in doing so makes other people actually throw up in a visceral chain reaction? If so, I think you can imagine where this story's headed.
Several minutes into the Brenda/Brandon drama, Clara opened her mouth and barfed up what must have been 6 cups of cat food. Steaming, gloppy, swollen chunks of cat food, undoubtedly stolen from Green Thumb's big bag o' cat food. And then she did it again. And then the liquid began to separate from the solids, and the liquid started running toward the bookshelf, at which point I ran into the kitchen for paper towels and cleaner. And as I bent over, scooping up hot jellyish cat food barf with my paper towel-covered hand, I started to retch. And then Clara attempted to eat the cat food hurl, which made it worse. But I couldn't stop scooping and mopping since the barf juice was running toward the bookshelf and Clara kept trying to lick it up, so I just kept cleaning and retching. And then I barfed, too, right on top of the cat food barf. And then I did it again. And then I had to clean up not only Clary's barf, but my chicken dinner barf as well, dry heaving all the while. And when all the cleaning and barfing and retching was done, I called Petunia's cell phone to tell her that she can never, ever leave us again.
Petunia called back just a few minutes later and I told her what happened. I even managed to laugh a little, because the whole thing was pretty funny in a junior high kind of way. But then Clary barfed a third time--a smaller amount, mercifully--and Petunia got to hear me dry heave on the phone with her.
Some couples have phone sex; we have long distance dry heaving. We're romantic like that.
The good news: Clara's fine today. Me, too.
The bad news: I need to buy another bag of cat food for Green Thumb. Five dollars says the smell of the food through the bag makes me retch.
Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!
posted by Clementine at 1:02 PM
4 Comments:
Oh no, this is a very sad story, and way more gross than my poop bag story the other day.
So sorry. Very very sad.
i laughed. and laughed. and covered my mouth and laughed some more. our "cat", Porkchop, pukes often, and abundantly.
Ewwww! It was so nasty! But I'm glad it could give y'all a laugh. Also, Barb, I love the name Porkchop! Maybe that can be our kitty Reuben's new nickname. Awesome!
Hey Baby,
We are just keeping the romance alive here!
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