What Goes Down...Should Stay Down

I just hate it when life intrudes on my life. There I was happily annoying my wife with derogatory comments about Phil Mickelson while watching The P.G.A. (Pregnant Girls with Attitude) golf tournament, eating peanuts and sipping a soda when I suddenly became sick. My wife, who is more generous than I, didn't say serves you right for picking on Phil, but I know she was thinking it as I beelined for the bowl. If it was a karmic response to my gentle jokes, "yo Phil, what's with the orange shirt, proof that pumpkins can play too?" and other, er, high quality jibes like that, than I promise to be a Mickelson fan from this day forward, because barfing doesn't rank among my favorite things to do. It ranks, in fact, only a notch or two above choking to death on a chicken bone. Retch is what I did, repeatedly, and wretch is what I was, completely. There are, I'm sure, grosser things that life has to offer and I'll give an example in a moment, but really, is there any less dignified pose than to be on your knees in front of a toilet bowl spewing what seems to be all your insides into a receptacle designed for your backside and not your face? Tough to maintain one's poise and composure. "I say Old Girl, retch puke vomit, sorry about that, heave toss puke, Mickelson thing. Barf spittle bleck. Do hand me the brrrraggghhhhhh towel like a good sport, won't you?

In a way it might have been a good thing. First I've been eating way too many peanuts lately and that had to stop. They had become my snack of choice and, well, they are fattening don't you know. I guarantee it won't be a problem now. If I even see that that Planter's guy with his top hat and stupid glasses - what peanuts have bad eyesight?- I am definetly going to take a poke at him. Secondly, when the golf was ended and the Sox/Yankee game came on, I had nothing left to contribute to the bowl. The Yankees scored twenty five runs in the double header. Ever see a whole team throw up on themselves?

Finally, as proof that life has a theme, at four this morning I was awakened by the sound of my dog tossing his cookies, kibbles and anything else that may have neared his mouth earlier in the day. Not wanting to actually witness this oh so familiar event, I lay back and closed my eyes for what seemed a moment. The moment after that I was reawakened by the dog scratching at the door to go out. I drug my sorry and sick butt out of bed and went down to face the mess and open the door. After doing the latter, I turned to look for the former and there was none, not a spot, a drop or a dribble. Don't think about where it went.