Just got with me on this, I swear the payoff'll be worth it.
I was never a huge partier... but I did party. I went out, I got drunk, I acted like an ass. In fact, one of the reasons I don't drink any more is because the last time I got really drunk, I almost punched a chick because she wouldn't let me touch her shoes. (They were shiny. And red. SHINY AND RED. I can barely resist that shit sober.)
I had my share of nights that ended with me worshiping the porcelain god. I remember the glorious feeling about 30 seconds after you puke. The swirling stops, the roiling in your belly stops.. for about a minute, you feel okay. Then it starts all over again, but for that glorious minute... nirvana.
Then... I had kids.
And now that 30 seconds after puking? It's never mine. It's never glorious. Now, 30 seconds after puke, I'm thinking "OMG IT'S EVERYWHERE" and "OMG IT STINKS" and "OMG IT'S IN HER HAIR!" Because not only is the 30 seconds of glory not mine, the puke is never mine.
No longer do I consider cleaning up puke the sign of a life well lived. Now it's punishment for letting my kids eat Krispy Kreme and drink egg nog in the same day. Or blue gatorade and hot dogs. How come there's always hot dogs??? They don't eat that many hot dogs, why is there ALWAYS chunks of hot dogs in there??
It's not fair.
I miss cleaning up my own puke.
|Figured a picture of me drunk was a better image for this post|
then a picture of kid-puke. You're welcome.