Warning: Not for weak stomachs.

 

 

In the middle of the night my cell phone chirped, announcing an incoming text.  My husband walked in my bedroom chuckling, reading the message from my daughter out loud:  “Mom, I just threw up so much, I lost five pounds.”  I said, “OMG, that must have been bad,” but I had to laugh, however guiltily.  Brian called our daughter to make sure that she was alright and offered to come over if needed.  The next morning, my stomach rolled over and imitated my daughter.  Knowing the “fun” she had the night before, I decided to drink only tea and not eat anything that might reappear on stage for an encore.  In Slovenia, Daniela taught me to use strong peppermint tea (two bags in one cup set for fifteen minutes) for calming even the sickest of stomachs.  Fortunately for me, the tea worked and I did not end up spending my day “worshipping at the porcelain goddess” like my daughter.  I always keep a package of mint tea in the house just in case my body decides to unleash the monster.

            As an English major at Aquinas College, I decided to look up synonyms for throwing-up, or as my friend in Slovenia says, “throwing out.”  I guess this is my attempt at humorously making the best of an ill situation.  (If I feel guilty when I’m better, I’ll apologize for being crude).  So, here are some appropriate selections:

First you have the Onomatopoetic:  barf, brack, brechen, buick, bushusur, earl, gack, harf, hewey and ralph. 

Second you have toilet worshipers:  talking to God on the big white telephone, praying at the porcelain altar, praying to the china goddess, praying to the porcelain gods, offering sacrifice to Ralph, blowing liquid kisses to the china goddess, bowing down before the porcelain god, and bowing to the porcelain Buddha. 

Next come the more animated poetic:  birpin’ solid, chewing backwards, clam chowder revisited, gastric overpressure relief, lateral cookie toss, and lipshits.  Whatever term is used, it all means the same thing, “Get out of my way or you will pay!”

          The Bear had to fend for himself again today, except I did actually fry him a couple of eggs when I felt upright for more than five minutes.  He slapped these on a piece of that dense German bread, and made do.  I expect that after hours, I’ll hear the rummaging which is familiar to those who live or camp in bear country.  I only hope he doesn’t make too much of a mess.