My wonderful gay boyfriend, Jason, a teacher, posted a truly technicolor set of stories about kids in his class puking through the years. Coincidentally, I was with my dear high school friends over the weekend and we were reliving one of my own favorite puke stories:
We were seniors in high school and my friend, Chris' parents were away for the weekend. As you know, this means a party. So we all headed over and commenced with the drinking. Mary was the first to fall. One minute, she was mid-conversation with Chris' sister, Donna. The next, she's face down in the kitchen sink, losing everything she's consumed in the last (
Unfortunately, Mary has not gotten sleep-over permission and it's too late to call her parents. We brilliant, drunk adolescents decide to bring her home. I can't remember what we thought about nearly-unconscious Mary getting past her parents. I would assume they were asleep.
As luck would have it, our friend Sue's boyfriend, Chris, had worked that night and had arrived shortly before Mary's puke-fest. He became our designated driver. I was slightly more sober than the rest, so I was the Wing Man. We trundle Mary into the car with Chris driving, Mary in the passenger seat and me, sitting on the bench seat between them. Mary's getting the spins so we decide to recline her seat, forcing me to scootch a little closer to Chris.
It was at a red light on Winter Hill after midnight that we look over to see Sue's mother (aka, Chris' future mother-in-law) pull up to the light next to us. We wave. She stares. The pieces...click...into...place. Uh oh. The light changes and we take off.
The next day, Sue's mom comes into her room, closes the door, and tells her she has something to discuss with her.
*** Please heed this warning: Never, ever, ever, ever do a Google Image search for "puking". Ever. ***