Puppy love
When I first started seeing the girl who is now my wife we used to enjoy getting quite hammered (still do really, just can't take the hangovers), and one evening we went back to my parents house and necked the best part of a bottle of Smirnoff Blue - stronger than normal and at that time we thought also much classier.
Three quarters of the way down the bottle she suddenly begins to rev up for a chunder and I, worried about my mum's carpet, cup my hands to catch it.
She barfs a bit, I catch some of it, so far so good - we both run to the patio door, me with a handful of puke, her with her cheeks full of the same, and I dump my grim cargo on the gravel while she finishes her business outside.
Then, for reasons which to this day remain mysterious, I am overcome with the urge to sniff my hands - the same hands which recently cupped a nice warm bowl of boozy puke.
Barfarama. If she looks ill these days I fetch a bucket.
(sparagus14, Thu 7 Jan 2010, 19:06, Reply)