Before we had time to even register what he said, he projectile vomited across the table, peppering his great grandmother with puke. Chris put his hand over Jonas’ mouth to stop the sweet and sour shower Grandma was getting, but, unfortunately, that only forced the vomit through a smaller opening, increasing the projectile quality. He finally picked Jonas up, still barfing, and hauled him to the men’s room.
We hadn’t unpacked the car yet, so I ran outside and got Jonas a change of clothing, and then asked the grossed out wait staff for paper towels. I cleaned up the barf and salvaged what I could from the platters of food that had been out of range. Jonas returned, cleaned up and quite hungry, for obvious reasons. I dished him up more food and as I was scooping up some white rice, I, ever so gracefully, knocked over Chris’ very, very large glass of ice water and watched it pour over the table and into Grandma and Grandpa’s already puke splattered laps.
At this point, I began to laugh. I couldn’t help it. You know how most people look back at life and laugh? I have the curse of looking at life in the present and laughing myself into hysterics, even in situations where laughter is inappropriate, rude, and likely to earn me a swift kick in the pants or total disinheritance. I tried to stop myself from laughing at my wonderful grandparents in-law, flecked with vomit and now looking as though they were suffering from severe incontinence. I tried to stop laughing, but as I contemplated how much they probably looked forward to seeing us, and how generous they had been to take us out, and the way Grandma’s eyes bugged out as the sweet and sour vomits sailed across the table. . .I just couldn’t stop. In fact, I began to cry from mirth.
Now, once in awhile, I’m bound to get lucky, and this was, thankfully, one of those times. Chris’ grandparents were laughing as hard as I was. Total exoneration was mine, and we ended up having a great time. ]]>