WARNING: This story involves bodily fluids.
So my darling girls were in for my birthday, and decided to make me a lasagna, so I could eat for a week. Best birthday present ever, right??? But when we went to the store, we forgot a pan. So as the ladies cooked, I went to the fancy grocery store to get a lasagna pan.
This was my first mistake.
I should have stayed home. Or not had a birthday. Or never been born. Anything but going to the grocery store that evening. I should have known that something horrible was going to happen, I mean, it was my birthday, my girls were over, we were having a wonderful time, I was getting hooked on the show "True Blood," everything was dandy. Of course something was going to go horribly wrong.
I grabbed the pan and went to the express line.
Behind me, there was a child, with whom I assume to be his mother, as he kept saying "Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom?" etc. The mother, who was on the cellphone ear thingie that looks like a cockroach ON YOUR FACE was ignoring the boy.
I like kids. I LOVE kids. I might not HAVE kids, but that doesn't mean I'm a baby-hater. It just means I don't have kids. But that's a huge topic for another day. The point is, that, despite the remainder of this story, please keep in mind that I love kids.
Okay. Deep breath. I swear, this shit only happens to me.
Okay. So I'm waiting in line, and the kid continues. "Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom?" JUST AS I'm about to say "What is it, kid, what can I help you with as we stand on this line today?" I mean, RIGHT AS I TURNED TO SAY THIS, it happened.
The kid opened his mouth as I turned.
And barfed on me.
I never should have been born.
So now, covered in puke, I look gravely at the mother, (still on the phone) as if to say "What are you gonna do, right?" and she (still on the phone) said "Oh no, sorry." and continued with her conversation.
What WAS she gonna do, right? I mean, the puke was done. There was no going back. What was the woman going to do, offer me money? (That would have been nice,) but come on. I mean, that's an awkward ass conversation to have. "Ooh, was that MY kid that just puked on you? My bad." So when she didn't really...DO anything, I wasn't that surprised.
I paid for my pan, gathered my long, black, perfectly awesome, perfectly ruined black skirt in one hand to hide the yak, and ran out of the store, flung myself in the car, and smoked all the way home to mask the smell.
I ran into the house, screaming "Avert your eyes! AND YOUR NOSE!!!!!!" as I slammed the door shut and got changed, threw the clothes into a garbage bag, cleaned up, and returned to the kitchen.
But I got my lasagna that night.
And it was good.
RIP, beautiful black skirt.
And happy birthday to ME.