Just another excuse to undertake another phase of modification for my BMW. Interestingly enough, it wasn’t just the spilled coffee, the stale cigarette smell mixed with the aromas of a thousand different automotive fluids, the worn leather, the cracking trim, the outdated electronics. No, no. That might be enough for some people, but what ultimately convinced me that an interior makeover on my car was imminently necessary… was my son.
Indeed, I had already had an interior makeover planned for some time now. But with so many other more important phases immediately more accessible and infinitely more important, I had kept pushing it off and pushing it off, and in case I forgot, pushing it off. Instead, I’m now inclined to make this winter’s car project more than what it already was going to be.
On Thursday of last week Avery was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder (ADHD). He was prescribed Adderall, and the last few days have been absolutely heaven as he’s been a perfect angel. The downside to all of this, and it might be completely unrelated, is that Avery seems to be having a few issues with keeping food down. As I already stated, this could be a simple case of the common flu hitting him at a totally inconvenient time, but I digress.
The entire thing would be totally acceptable, but for the projectile fucking vomiting. Yes, I’m sure everyone claims to know someone with a kid that unceremoniously upchucks the contents of his/her stomachs without a moment’s notice. Yeah, that can be disturbing, but it’s not projectile upchuck. When I say projectile fucking vomiting, what I mean to say is unholy-Linda-Blair-on-fucking-steroids-and-crack-after-a-midnight-binge-of-wings-and-Sprite-projectile-fucking-vomiting. Yes, it’s really that bad.
Last night’s episode occurred as we were making our way home from a cookout we didn’t eat at, and instead decided to hook up America’s favorite nasty fatty treat, McDonalds. After paying for the food at the first drive-thru window, Avery gave me warning that he wasn’t feeling good and that he might need to puke. I kindly told him that we were literally two and a half blocks away from home and that he could hold out. We made it to the second window, and while I can see our food and drinks awaiting us just on the other side of the sliding window, I can see no drive-thru employees to give it to me. As the clock ticks down on Avery’s stomach, I wonder whether or not these people were dropped on their fucking heads as children… or whether or not they’d like to be dropped on their fucking heads again if I don’t receive my quickly-cooling food in a more timely manner. Finally, some bitch who looked as though she had just learned how to dress herself and that she could use her mouth to talk (amongst other things, I’m sure), started to hand me my drinks. And that’s when Avery began to dry heave in the back seat. JesusChristdon’tlethimvomitinthebackseat. As the dumb broad finally started to hand me my food, more dry heaves. And finally, as I feathered the gas for departure and the dumb bitch at the window formed her mouth to say, “Have a good night,” Avery let loose. He let loose. He fucking let loose with a barrage of high-pressured, ultra high volume, no spray, no chunks, just liquid, going-for-the-world-record-length projectile fucking vomiting.
I realized after the fact that Avery must have been looking down when he launched, because the area of impact was kept to a minimum around his car seat. Poor kid was trying to save Daddy’s car like a champ, but as he hasn’t taken physics yet, he didn’t realize that vomit with the consistency of 100% liquid will invariably drip and stream away from the initial ground zero spot. He felt bad for puking in Daddy’s car, but I cheered him up with, “Hey buddy, it could have been worse. At least it smells like fruity gummy rings in Daddy’s car.” And it does, too. I won’t say the smell is unpleasant, but just in case, I left the sunroof and windows open in the garage last night, lest the smell of stomach acids finally break through the overwhelming power of the gummy rings.
Oh well, at least I have an excuse to get at that interior makeover now.
