Wednesday, November 17, 2004
Vomitorious Circumstances
Sunday, I met with a potential bride at 2 p.m. I had been working at my computer at home, and I raced down there at about 1:45. The meeting went fine, but when I got back home, I was crazy thirsty. Diet Coke? No. Water? Boring. Milk? Blech. Ooh, wait... I have some Diet Sprite left over from earlier. I toddle into the living room and swig from the 20 oz. bottle.
Something. Is. Not. Right. What is that disgusting taste?! As my stomach starts its irrevocable turn, I look inside the bottle. There are cigarette butts floating in it!
I don't even make it to the hallway before the liquid resurfaces. Most of it hits the toilet, but there is a trail of Diet Sprite from the living room doorway to the bathroom.
"What happened?!" Scott exclaims from the bathroom door. I am intent on my vomit, thank you very much, and I don't have time for this conversation. When I don't respond, he asks again, and waits a few moments. He doesn't want to watch me vomit, but he doesn't want to ignore my plight, either.
"You put out[retch] your fucking cigarettes[retch] in my Sprite!" (you asshole!)
I probably could have gotten some new jewelry out of him after that, but I tried to laugh it off. It worked for a little while, but about 20 minutes later I got really pissed off, and had to go sit on the porch and read the paper while I calmed down. That was the most disgusting thing that has happened to me in a long time.
Something. Is. Not. Right. What is that disgusting taste?! As my stomach starts its irrevocable turn, I look inside the bottle. There are cigarette butts floating in it!
I don't even make it to the hallway before the liquid resurfaces. Most of it hits the toilet, but there is a trail of Diet Sprite from the living room doorway to the bathroom.
"What happened?!" Scott exclaims from the bathroom door. I am intent on my vomit, thank you very much, and I don't have time for this conversation. When I don't respond, he asks again, and waits a few moments. He doesn't want to watch me vomit, but he doesn't want to ignore my plight, either.
"You put out[retch] your fucking cigarettes[retch] in my Sprite!" (you asshole!)
I probably could have gotten some new jewelry out of him after that, but I tried to laugh it off. It worked for a little while, but about 20 minutes later I got really pissed off, and had to go sit on the porch and read the paper while I calmed down. That was the most disgusting thing that has happened to me in a long time.
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