Ho Ho Hurl

Just before the holidays (oh wait, I must specify lest the Evangelicals protest by not spending their Jesus bucks on my site… HAHAHAHA!), I met my friend Kym at Borders. We met in the children’s section because I hadn’t met my yearly quota of homosexual recruitment. No wait, I mean, she was looking for some gifts for her nieces. Yeah, that’s it. So, being a children’s librarian extraordinaire, I was making some suggestions about possible gifts for her nieces. While we were looking, we started to hear whimpering coming from the little stage in the children’s area. A little girl was laying across the stage, making various noises of discomfort and drumming her heels on the ground. Kym, herself a parent, wondered whether we should go over and intervene. I, as an educator, pointed out that her parents were nowhere to be seen and that they would resent any attempts to offer succor because it would highlight their apparent lack of care. Besides, it looked more to me like a tantrum than a problem. The girl rendered our discussion academic by issuing forth a three-foot plume of vomit. After moving to the other side of the children’s section, Kym and I resumed our discussion, although this time we debated over what was more nauseating: the smell of the vomit or the brain-etching scent of the cleanser.