On my dad
I have this really horrible asthmatic cough that rears its head whenever I catch a cold. Sometimes es that cough will cause me to puke. Not always, but every now and then.

When I was about six, I was lying in my bed, tossing and turning in the middle of the night, unable to fall asleep because I was coughing. I just couldn’t stop coughing, no matter what. I was sweating and I was red-faced and my little body was heaving from the coughing. I decide that perhaps I need a drink of water, to soothe my throat and all.

I get up. I am still coughing, making that awful honky sound. As I approach my door, my father thunders in, because he can hear that I am not doing well at all.

At that exact moment, I cough so hard that vomit surges up my esophagus. I purse my lips as tightly as possible, so the vomit doesn’t escape.

My father makes the horribly bad decision to pick me up – and starts demanding that I tell him what’s wrong.

“Em, are you okay? What’s wrong? Talk to me! What’s the problem?” He kept asking me to talk, so I think, maybe I can talk without puking all over my father’s shoulder.

Wrong.

I cover my father’s body with vomit, my father who is only wearing his underpants. My father who is now as red-faced as I am and dripping in my puke.

My mother chooses that moment to come in. Despite the seriousness of the whole event, all of us burst into laughter. Including my father.

Apologies for length.

(yay, first post ever)
(LaChicKitten, Tue 24 Aug 2004, 15:17, Reply)