Lisa: and the path leads...to puke

Yesterday I was tooling around online, looking for retro jello recipes to link, and I found a posting from someone looking for recipes for their fifties-themed bridal shower. "Ooh! A fifties-themed shower," I thought to myself. "Fun! I love fifties things!" That made me think of Avocado Memories, and I spent a while there, remembering the awesomeness of Wes's family home and getting caught up on stuff he had posted in the last few years. One of his recent additions was a tribute to the Spirograph, a toy I also had as a kid--and that, in my mind, will forever be associated with puke.

Once upon a time, when I was still little enough to ride in the basket of the shopping cart, my dad was pushing me around the store while he got some shopping done. I started feeling queasy, but before I could get Dad's attention, I threw up. I held my mouth closed as tightly as I could so I wouldn't make a mess, tugged on his sleeve, and pointed frantically at my mouth. Dad, thinking I was playing some wacky little-kid game, puffed out his cheeks and pointed at his own mouth, nodding his head. Unfortunately, at that moment, another heave hit me, and it was more than I could hold in. Puke sprayed out of my mouth, and probably all over me and whatever else was in the cart. I've blocked that part of the story out, because it is disgusting. What I do remember is that my dad felt so bad that he bought me Spirograph, which I played with happily all afternoon in bed.

He also made me a puke-catching system out of nested paper grocery bags, which my mom promptly threw out and replaced with a proper barf-bucket when she got home.

Anyway, thanks for taking care of me, Dad! Sorry about the mess.