There has always lurked inside of me a nine-year-old boy's fascination and delight with that which is truly gross. On more than one occasion, my dearly beloved cousin, whom I shall refer to as "Roberto", and I were rebuked for playing a game at mealtime in which we would take turns describing the most disgusting things we could think of. Naturally, the goal of the aforementioned game was to render the opponent unable to finish his/her meal. I don't think either of us ever was grossed out enough to stop eating, but our siblings were.
Another game from my innocent childhood was similar in nature, and involved imagining the most horrific form of death possible. My personal favorite was the idea (perhaps practiced by one of the more depraved Roman emperors?) of binding a healthy person to a corpse and leaving them there to die slowly of maggot infestation. What a happy, well-adjusted child I was...
Anyway, the last few days our family was afflicted with the puking plague. All of us were spewing from both ends, although, thankfully, Elena had only one episode of vomiting. At one point, doing yet another load of noxious, bio-hazard laundry, I thought of the old game. I don't remember if drowning in vomit was one of the things we came up with (it probably was), but if not a winner, it should definitely be an honorable mention.
Heh. Yes, at least I am recovered enough to laugh about it, right? Never fear, gentle reader, my subsequent posts will contain cute photos, heart-felt spiritual musings and light, love and holiday cheer. I will, for the most part, eschew crude references to bodily fluids and things of that nature. So perhaps this is my last chance to go ahead and admit that I still pick my nose, enjoy popping zits, and find removing ear wax to be peculiarly satisfying.