Yesterday, on my way home from yoga class, I began to ponder the proper etiquette for hurling while driving? Do I pull over and vomit in a parking lot or do I "Suck it up" and toss my cookies in the car hoping I will be spared the humiliation of public puking?
Always my Father's daughter, aka a valiant warrior, I opted to drive on. I threw up three times, bam-bam-bam, projectile vomit. The debris was everywhere including dribbling down my chin; in my purse, soaking the carpet and my clothes. Always the optimist, I decided to continue my journey and mop up at home. When "What to my wondering eyes should appear?" but a child crossing against the light just as I sped up to catch the green-means-go signal.
Lucky for him, he was wearing a helmet. When I was growing up, we didn't have helmets, but we knew better than to cross a busy intersection on a red light. The sign says: "DON'T WALK" in blinking red. Perhaps that's what confused him.
So, I stopped on a green light with drool on my chin. The boy stopped in the middle of the street and waved me on. Really? He's going to ride his bike against a red light, stop in the intersection, and wave a crazy lady with vomit on her face to cross in front of him?
He was so vulnerable; so innocent; so prescious; and so in need of guidance. I wanted to protect him; pull over and talk to him about safety. I wanted to know where his parents were and why he didn't know better? But, what could I do with the contents of my stomach in my lap? I waved him to the curb safely with a smile and a prayer.
I love a good barf story. Don't you?
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