We had a three-family play date on Friday. I thought things went pretty well, with the kids getting along well and nobody needing medical attention. Well, at least nobody needed medical attention on Friday.
On Saturday, we took Malcolm out to go golfing. On the practice green, he started looking, well, a little green. After mumbling something unintelligible, he proceeded to projectile vomit all over that finely mowed grass.
It was like this, except with more chunder!
Not wanting the 50 or so kids lined up for a youth golfing event to have to putt through any more puke, I picked him up and placed him in the rough next to the green. He continued to toss his cookies for another minute or so, while I rubbed his back and tried my best not to stare at the large chunks of fruit that were spewing forth from his mouth. Seeing all those kids with a hopeful and energetic look in their eyes was inspiring, at least until they saw what Malcolm was doing and started dry heaving themselves. After the episode finally came and went, I got some paper towels to clean up the mess. Let me tell you, cleaning sticky, chunky, gelatinous barf off of a tightly mowed green is a bit of a surreal experience. You should try it some time!!!
We got home and Malcolm threw up some more. Sadly, most of it went on our couch, which we had professionally cleaned last week. Timing is everything in life, isn’t it. I found out that two of the other kids at the play date were training to be supermodels on Friday as well. I think it may have been some bad cheese that we ate.
Ah, to heck with it. I don’t care. You know what time it is? It’s fantasy football time! I love fantasy football. If fantasy football were a gay man, I would marry it, even in a red state. If fantasy football wore Betty White’s dress to the Emmy’s, I would tell it it looked amazing. (And then take it home for some sweet lovin’!) Fantasy football could call me a racist, say that FEMA is building concentration camps, and compare me to Hitler, and I would still give it a big juicy hug at the end of each day. In order of awesomeness, my priorities are breathing, drinking, eating, Amy, fantasy football, money, a good toilet, Friday Night Lights, and then Malcolm. The hold that fantasy football has over me is stronger than Arnold Schwarzenegger and the Situation, put together!
Amy joined the party again this year by drafting her own team. She and her college pals started a league, and I helped Amy prepare for her draft. (That’s why she shows up so high on the priority list!) My draft is next monday. I will be feverishly preparing for the draft, so my posts my be a bit sparse this week. Wish me luck, and stay away from mozzarella cheese at my house, for the time being!
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I like your fantasy football metaphors but I’m afraid the only thing stronger than Schwarzenegger and the Situation is Chuck Norris.
Agreed, although Commando Schwarzenegger would give even Walker Texas Ranger Norris a run for his money…
Aha! Only after the Fantasy Football dream barf do we read that you were the play date host and it was your cheese!
I like to bury the details that made me look bad. It’s like I’m the president!
Dammit, when will I ever learn! Yet again a poor choice of BDP posts to read at lunchtime…and, under the circumstances, carrot soup was a poor choice of lunch!
I would say that this blog makes perfect restroom reading, although you may get some strange looks dragging a laptop into the facilities.
Is carrot soup ever the right choice at lunch?