“Happy New Year! Isn’t it starting off great?”
One of my New Year’s resolutions is not to throw up, and I think I’m doing pretty well so far this year. I mean, we’re already four days into it and I’m batting a thousand. Other years, I haven’t been quite so “on the money” as they say (they being the people who equate money with one’s accuracy at guessing the frequency of vomiting).
I am one of those people who do not vomit easily, surely not as easily as those in the famous pie-eating scene in Stephen King’s Stand By Me.
Seeing people vomiting does not induce me to vomit. Eating day old clams on the half shell with extra hollandaise sauce, well, that’s a different story. (Did I mention I was hammered?)
Babies, those little bundles of joy, have a healthy gag reflex and, as I learned from my own children, will blow chow and keep right on laughing and giggling and suckling on Mama’s teat as if nothing flew out of their mouths all over Dad’s face. Some children become highly skilled at vomiting at an early age. Parents may notice a difference between those who daintily make their way to the toilet and deposit their over-indulgence in Gummy Bears to those who actually twirl like a Rainbird as they spew Coke and Mentos on the Elvis Collectibles we all own.
Like every bodily function involving the expelling of material, there is an etiquette to vomiting. Anyone who has driven home a heaving friend knows that it’s much better to have the topcoat of paint removed from your rear panel than to hose out and vacuum the interior of the car for approximately two and half years. Also, as is typified in many Chick Flicks (these are movies especially made for baby birds), it is customary for the protagonist to hold back the hair of the girl who is beautiful and is right in front of him while the bitch we all can’t stand treats him like shit, but the girl we all want him to like is throwing up, making her seem undesirable to him, but to us, the fact that she’s barfing and suffering just endears us to her more, and we would hold back her hair, hell, we would let her vomit all over us because we know she’s beautiful and perfect, even if that stupid Ashton Kutcher has no idea and is just rolling his eyes as she wretches.
What’s great about the human body is that, even if you’re a complete idiot, your body has decided that the eight shots of Patron and two Jaeger bombs were not really a good idea, and wants you, even though your body thinks you are an idiot, to live, because if you die with your stupid Patron-swilling brain, your body will go down with you.
And your body will not have it.
Lastly, because I tend to wrap things up so tightly it’s hard for people to breath after reading, vomiting is the only bodily function which is proceeded by the word “projectile”, which to me puts it into the Hierarchy of Functions (something I just now made up but sounds legit so I’ll Google it later and see how badly I misused the phrase).
Anyway, my hope for everyone in the coming year is that, when the time comes, you can vomit successfully and that someone you really love holds back your hair.