Fate

It has a way of catching up with us. It caught me by surprise the other night, or should I say the wee hours of the morning when my daughter unexpectedly withdrew the contents of her stomach and deposited it upon her sister, their bedding, and the surrounding carpet.

I've got the iron stomach around here when it comes to throw up so it was my job to take care of the initial cleanup since acidic smelling puke leads Daddy to begin involuntary gagging in the worst kind of way. I tend to be less sympathetic as the years go by about his unfailing condition, nevertheless, I still allowed him to stand guard in the hallway until I had the undesirable mess under control.

I really do need to learn to be more accepting of his intolerance to vomit since there are a few things I simply cannot fathom doing myself. Like, I could never, ever, ever, ever, ever, take a gopher out of a trap and proudly display its stiff mangled body at the front window for family viewing. Its got to be a guy thingy, and I liken it to his days in adolescence when he stuffed dead fish in his pocket for a keepsake. I have absolutely none of these character traits, so when it came time to fish out the strange animal that had begun to plug up our shower a few mornings ago, I naturally thought Dad would be the most qualified.
















I'm not sure which smells worse; puke, or hairball mixed with soap scum and dead skin cells. They're both highly toxic. But since Daddy is the expert fisherman around here, it seemed fitting to give up any and all rights to the task.

He didn't seem to derive quite the same pleasure from catching this gopher as he has the burrowing rodents who make a habit of tearing up our lawn outside, but at least he only gagged a couple of times.

I'll take puke any old day. At least I know where that comes from.