[I would avoid this post if you’re planning on enjoying your breakfast/lunch/dinner]
I hate cleaning up barf. Your own barf is bad enough but cleaning up other people’s barf is barfable. Completely shamelessly, that goes for my kids too.
Pickle is poorly again. It’s the usual phlegmy chest, headache, snots and high temperature. That god-fecksaken virus that all kids get. Except mine seem to get it worse than the rest and end up having several days off school, roughly every six weeks. The doctor can doing nothing for a virus of course, so it’s sticky, sickly sweet, syrupy meds all the way. They’re enough to make anyone puke.
I’m not even going to go waste finger-time talking about the kids in this post… I’m far too fecked off about the barf.
You see, Pickle didn’t do the easy task of hurling to Ralph in the bathroom. Oh no. He had to barf up in the car. Of all the places. We had literally just pulled up right outside the house. Inconsiderately, pickle couldn’t wait to share his techni-coloured chunder with the back of my seat, the childseat, the seat next to him and the floor. As if that wasn’t enough, as I jumped out and reached over him to try to unplug him from his strait jacket of a seatbelt, he practically yacked in my lughole.
He’s vomming, I’m gipping. He’s crying, I’m aaaack-ing, he’s apologising (I did weaken at that point), I’m semi-smiling, mouthing a half-hearted it’s-alright-it-doesn’t-matter. All the time thinking, this is going to barfing well stink my car out. It’s going to linger for days and make me want to barf each time I get in it.
Inside the house, I strip child of his clothes and settle him on the sofa. I venture back outside with a sponge and a bowl of hot soapy water, ready to face battle with the jet spray of spew in the car.
I then hear a gurgling voice calling me. He’s only upchucking all over the sofa now. It doesn’t land in the middle, it pebble-dashes the entire barfing sofa. I cry and aaaack as I watch it trickle between the cushion seats.
Give me poop over barf any day.
The only good thing about barf is the plethora of euphemisms for the term.
What funny synonyms or near-synonyms do you have for “barking at the ants”.
[Yes, I’m bored and home alone. Entertain me!]