So this morning we were supposed to go to a memorial service for a dear friend.
When I got up this morning I just had that feeling like breakfast wasn’t going to stay down. But I made it through the whole meal and… nothing. I fed the dogs, took a shower, got ready and still nothing. So then I figured that maybe breakfast was going to stay down afterall and that my little feeling was wrong.
I still felt a little nauseaus though.
Well we didn’t even make it halfway there when I started to feel really, really nauseaus. I knew breakfast was coming up.
I told Stephen to pull over and that I was going to throw up. He thought pull over meant find the nearest fast food restaurant so I could make my way to the bathroom. I meant pull over on the shoulder of the freeway so I can open the passenger door and get this over with right now.
So he keeps driving and driving. And telling me that I just need to calm down and take big deep breaths. I’m like trying to do everything in my power to keep the churning inside, but I have no idea where in the heck he is headed and know I can’t make it that long. I’m like, “Pull over! Just pull over!” and he keeps telling me that he’s “working on it.”
Well then the inevitable happened. I puked all over myself and the side of the car. The wind blew it back in all over me and my hair and the seat.
Stephen was mad. We argued about our lack of proper communication and my inability to get all the puke on the outside of the car.
And we didn’t make it to the memorial service. Instead we spent an hour at home cleaning up puke. Thank goodness we splurged on the leather seats. Definitely made things a little easier to deal with.
The car still stunk really bad like puke so I took it to get it detailed for $60. Stephen was mad about that too. And even though I pointed out all the stuff that still needed to be taken care of they didn’t take care of all of it. So then when I got back home I had more crusty puke drips to clean up.