Dear Vomit Faerie,
If it's all the same to you, I'm going to refer to you as "VF" from here on out. I feel, after the events of today, that you sort of owe me that.
Here we are, a mere 8 days into the New Year and you have to make a stinkin appearance at the Barking Mad Asylum. Weren't there more worthy candidates you could have bestowed your grossness upon before besotting my youngest?
Your timing sucks!
I get a call at 12:30PM today from the Little Imp's teacher at Montesorri telling me that Imp just hasn't been herself and she said her tummy hurts. They said they were going to put her down for a nap and keep an eye on things but wanted to let me know. Ms. Julie, her teacher, told me that they'd call me back and make me aware of any changes. By 4PM there was no other phone call so I assumed you'd passed the Little Imp over in favour of some other more deserving candidate, like the butthole who lives behind us and whistles the tunes to popular horror movies at the ass-crack of dawn.
I know you have a job to do and part of that is spreading the sickness around, redistribution of your sick kind of wealth, if you will. I distinctly recall a night spent with a barfing kid, a washing machine and a tired hubby who played catcher to all that vomit, only this past May. So what's up with another visit so soon? Seriously, just because all the other kids in school are doing it, doesn't mean she needs to, too! We're trying to teach her not to cave to peer pressure.
I walk into her school and there she sat...a pathetic little shadow of the dancing princess she normally is. Just sitting there with her hands together and watching the other kids play. She looked at me with "that" look. The one that says, "dude, you better have stock in Clorox and laundry detergent because over the next 24 hours you're going to need it." Her teacher looked at me and handed me a couple of plastic bags for the drive home and that's when the tears started. Hers and mine. I was praying that we'd make it home before the volcano erupted. See, I have this intense fear of vomit. I can't hear it, see it, or God forbid, SMELL it! If I do, it's all over with.
We get her into the car and start the drive home and the tears are still rolling and I'm saying every prayer I can remember in order to make it home before the nightmare begins. By this point I know it's coming, I just don't want the opening credits to start rolling until we are out of the car.
I.AM.NOT.THAT.LUCKY.
We are about 2 miles at most from home and I hear it. A cough and then a bubbling sound and then it happens. She erupts IN.MY.CAR! My holy place. My tabernacle. My vehicle which, until that point in time, smelled pretty good. Dear God in Heaven could you not have intervened and just stopped time until we at least got home? No? I suppose you were busy with something else more important. Whatever.
Tears. Hers, and mine. She was asking me to clean her up NOW and I was gagging and crying because I knew I was going to barf as well. Mercifully I made it home before I leaned over and retched in the snow.
I beseech you, your most vomitous one, to steer clear of our home for the rest of the year...Please. We've had enough excitement already, that and I really don't relish having to clean chunky bits out of a pink guitar or a slinky! Besides, I have an "in" with the Clorox Faerie at this point and I can call in a favour and have her sanitize your ass if I have to!
