It seemed like today was going fine. My wife and
kids had returned from Wisconsin late Tuesday night, and all seemed
well on the home front. I was actually having a decent day at work.
Then my wife called, and I stepped outside to talk to her. She said
everything was fine, except... my son had "really stinky gas".
As she uttered that statement, a cold wind, like death, suddenly
chilled me. Several dozen birds suddenly flew simultaneously out of
a nearby tree, squaking as if something had spooked them. An old man
on a bicycle peddled up to me, stopped, and said "YOU'RE DOOMED!"
before riding off. (Some here will catch that reference.)
I decided to treat the kids with McDonald's when I came home. As
they finished off their Happy Meals, my wife announced that she was
taking a bath. I suddenly felt an icy, cold feeling go through me
again.
After I finished off my Chicken Selects, I went to play with my son,
who was playing hide-and-seek under a blanket on the floor. As I
lifted the blanket, I got a whiff of something putrid. I asked my
son, who is in the process of potty-training but still wears a
pull-up, if he had a "delivery". He just smiled. Outside, I heard a
creaky bicycle go by, with the words "YOU'RE DOOMED!" thrown my way.
I lifted up my son, and peeked in the back of his pullup. I caught a
tiny glimpse of something foreign, but certainly nothing like the
smell I had gotten a minute beforehand. Maybe this dog's bark was
worse than its bite?
I grabbed a pullup, a few wipes, laid him down, and undid his pullup.
OH.
MY.
GOD.
In a feat that even now seems anatomically impossible, my son had
had a diarrhea attack, but it was all in the front. There was
so much, it had leaked out the top of his pullup, onto his
belly (and the front of his shirt).
Upon catching an eyeful of this semi-liquid plutonium, the Chicken
Selects I had ingested minutes ago went to work. They seemed to
simultaneously kick at the walls of my stomach, and combined with
the all-out assault on my olfactory to induce an attack of
dry-heaving. Now, when I have had stomach viruses, I am a very loud
vomiter. Well, I am also a very loud dry-heaver, which drew the
attention of my daughter. A couple of months ago, one of her
classmates booted all over her in school, so now when she sees
someone throwing up (or threatening to throw up), she becomes
hysterical. While all this is happening, I am trying to clean off my
son, who seemed to think the whole event was hilarious, and also
seemd to be particularly ticklish tonight.
So, here's how the sequence went:
Chicken Selects do the cha-cha in my stomach.
I'm kneeling over the vile filth in my son's shorts, yelling "OH MY
GOD! BRRRFTH!"
My daughter is hopping back in forth in a panic, begging me not to
throw up.
My son giggling so hard that he was snorting profusely.
Chicken Selects now doing an Irish River Dance in my esophagus.
Me, realizing that I'm on my last baby wipe, and still looking at an
environmental disaster that would make Love Canal seem tame, yelling
"OH MY GOD! BRRRFTH!"
My daughter, now in tears, yelling "Don't throw up on me, daddy!"
My son now laughing so hard, he started crying.
And, in the distance, from the bathroom, I could hear my wife, who
must have surmised the situation, laughing uncontrollably.
I never want McDonalds again.