Don't you hate to wake up to that sound? The one signalling that vomit is sure to follow?
That's how I woke up at 4:15 this morning.
Monty lay on The Guy's side of the bed and started making the noises. Those terrible noises that get my stomach turning. The Guy was already up and getting ready for work, so he wasn't there to deal with it.
I panicked. I ran around the side of the bed (though, it dawns on me now I could have just leaned over) and stuck my hand under Monty's mouth.
Yeah, that was a bad idea.
The breakfast he had hastily chowed down during his early morning pee break landed squarely in my palm. The rest hit the comforter and dribbled down his chin hairs. I started gagging.
Pretending to be nonchalant, I walked to the bathroom with wet, half-chewed dog food dripping between my fingers. I was going to wash my hand, but realized I couldn't put it in the sink. I had to use the toilet to get rid of my prize.
I don't know how many of you know this about me, but I am a sympathy puker. The sound of it, the smell of it, the sounds associated with it. My father and his wife pour their left over tea and loose leaves into the toilet when they are done with them and that sound makes me throw up.
I lifted the toilet seat with my foot and stuck my hand inside. I thought if I could keep the lid down low, it would muffle the sound and I would be all right.
Not so much.
I ran back to the sink all the while gagging at the sounds that had filled my ears since I woke up. I rinsed off and soaped up and scrubbed and scrubbed. I must have looked a lot like Lady MacBeth, except that my hair this morning was more a cross between Flock of Seagulls and Bride of Frankenstein. (Note to self: do not wash your hair before bed anymore. Wow.)
Finally, I made it. I went back to the side of the bed where Monty sat in disbelief. He always looks so surprised when these things happen. I want to be like, "Look, if you would CHEW every once in awhile this would not happen. Correlated events, doorknob." However, if you've ever talked to Monty, you would know how futile this is.
I gathered up the comforter and headed for the laundry room. I put Monty outside to make sure all the stuff in him was out for sure and then let him in when I realized he was just standing there in shock with his head pressed against the window.
Finally, we went back to bed. When the alarm rang a short, few hours later, it was like nothing had happened. Monty burst forth from the bed with all the joy a brainless dog can muster and promptly walked into the closed bedroom door.
No harm done then.