Ahem.
No, really. I need to clear my throat. It's the Hack and Wheeze.
I'll spare you the rest of the details. Let's just say that I don't know why the Good Lord decided to make our bodies produce oddities that come from the nostrils and lungs.
And I hope you good folks already ate dinner.
Speaking of dinner, let me tell y'all more grossness from our house. I think I just invented a word.
At exactly midnight Sunday, the digital clock struck a digital twelve and my daughter hurled in her sleep all over our bed. All. Over. Our. Bed. With. Me. In. It.
My very southern comforter in all its magnolia blossom glory has a teeny tiny little label sewn into the seam where the magnolias meet with some lovely dogwood blossoms in a delightful display of southern comfort without the liquor. (I'm Baptist.)
Dry clean only.
I do have one ounce of mercy in me and I did not take the hurled upon not-so-comfortable comforter to the cleaners. I washed it in the washing machine like a good Mama does and it is now air drying in the bath tub as I pray that someone was just trying to play a joke on me when they placed such rigid laundering rules on my bedding.
Anywho.
Just as the lovely carriage turned back into a pumpkin, my daughter threw up and then she wanted the details.
"Mama, what did I just throw up?"
"Your dinner."
"But what?"
"Chicken Ya Ya (that's chicken nuggets to you rookies) and salad."
"And the ketchup on my chicken?"
"Yep. That, too."
"Now that my stomach is all empty, can I have something to eat?"
It's just a buffet of disgusting information at my house.
Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Jazz. Sanjaya, you must never, ever sing that song ever again because that song belongs to The English Patient in my head and you ain't no English patient. You don't even look ill. Please, sweet mercy, go to college and make your parents proud because I just can't take any more. Bless your heart. I know your Mama is so proud of you. I'm just sayin.
And did y'all know that Elvis is alive? I saw him today while house hunting. His full size poster was plastered on the wall of what could be used as a guest room or an office but is currently being used as a Sewing Room/Elvis Shrine.
As my Mama would say in a whisper, "To each his own. I didn't care for it."
Bless his heart.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
7 comments:
I'm sorry your daughter is sick! Don't we all have gross throw-up stories we could share!
Sanjaya...thank the good Lord for TiVo!!! We fast forward right through him!
Hey, I have a house for sale that has wallpaper in one of the bathrooms, that if I didn't know any better, came straight out of Graceland!
Oh sweet mercy...will someone PLEASE make an offer on that thing?!!!???
So are you in the market?
My Hubs, who HATES AI, is threatening to vote to Sanjaya just to make me crazy.
Thank you for sharing the grossness. It's always a comfort to know that I'm not alone.
Your poor girl, your poor comforter and yes, poor you! But she's just a little comic isn't she, asking for food right after? My question is did you actually give her some?
It's funny but everything Tony Bennett said about Sanjaya, my hubby said last week.
OK, so here is what I DON'T get.
All the interviews with Sanjaya's relatives and choir leader has them all expounding on how we're crazy- cause he sings "from the heart".
Darlin' people- I cook from the heart. But that doesn't keep us from eatin' out alot.
(Oh my- the word verification is "cruel")- I think I've been vindicated.
What was the word you invented? I must have missed it. The wondering, it is driving me crazy.
Way funny. . .since it wasn't my child or my bed or my bedding. My daughter called mashed potatoes "chicken teebos" for.eh.ver. 'cause we HAD to have them with chicken (according to her).
Bless you very own humorous heart.
And your comforter (minus the contents of your child's digestive system) sounds LOVELY.
Post a Comment