My Thought Process

On the way home from work/school today, Joey decided he felt like he was going to puke. Immediately I grew cold, clammy, nervous, and started driving faster. If there's one thing I really can't handle, it's people barfing.

Joey has had the flu, like, THREE TIMES since we got married. Bad news bears.

I started planning escape routes for myself if Joey were to throw up all over the car, or if he were to suddenly cry out, "I'M GONNA BLOW!!!" what I would do. (Sorry, that was kinda crude.)

My favorite option was for him to wait until we pulled into the driveway, then open the door and take care of his business. However, if he were to do that, I certainly would never be able to park in that spot, or the spot next to it, again, lest I get contaminated by or see the vestiges of his, um, barf.

Somehow, after I thought that I was immediately reminded of the time that, when I was 10 or 11, Pops ran over our first kitten, Sugar. (She was white and the name Snowball was already taken, since that was her mom's name.)

Pops drove a white Buick Century with red, velvety interior. (One of those bad boys now retails for about $2,000. I know because I just googled it trying to find a picture. No luck on the picture.) He was backing out of the garage on the way to work one morning when...crunch, there went Sugar.

We kids pretty much cried for an hour, then Pops and Mom took us to Pizza Hut. (Quite rare when we were kids.) I refused to go in the garage (I might see where Sugar died!) and I also refused to ride in the White Car, as we called it, for at least a week.

I recovered, though.

I assume I'd also recover if Joey threw up all over something important like, say, the carpet or the bedspread. But that doesn't mean I'd be happy about it.

It's 6:30 and I think he fell asleep. I'd better go wake him up.