And no, I'm not referring to my gut reaction when I see that annoying status update on Facebook. You know, the "proud momma" copy & paste one.
No, I'm talking about real projectile vomit.
How about some background first, though?
Buster is in a dart league. His teammates include my brother, father, brother-in-law, and Buster's cousin. They meet on Tuesday nights at the bar that sponsors whichever team they are playing.
This past Tuesday, their match was at a local brewing company/bar/restaurant. I drove Buster and my brother down there. I wanted to partake in some delicious beer cheese soup. After about an hour, I headed home. I was their designated driver, and would be picking them back up later.
Buster insists that he is better at darts when he is drinking. I don't mind that he has some beers on Tuesday nights, as him and I don't drink that often. And we rarely spend time apart, so I think it's good for him to unwind with the boys.
I get the "come pick us up" text at 10:30. Buster and my brother are both at least buzzed, and maybe drunk. Turns out Buster was drinking some really dark beer all night. Lovely!
After we get home, we watch the season premier of Workaholics (love that show!). I fix Buster a bagel and he has a Coke. When we head to bed, he has the spins. So, he gets up and goes to the computer for a bit, hoping that his spins will go away.
He finally comes to bed, and we sleep pretty well for about 4 hours.
Then, I wake up to him moaning and grunting about having a headache. This was 4:30 a.m. I stumble out of bed and get him some Advil and water. I attempt to fall back asleep.
At about 5:30, I hear him moaning again, and then, "I'm gonna throw up".
He struggles to get out of the tangled sheets, and goes to open the door to the bathroom. As he's reaching for the knob, I hear the dreadful sound of someone vomiting. He rushes in to the bathroom and finishes puking his guts up.
I get up, turn on the light. Oh, the devastation.
Buster projectile vomited all over the DOOR. There is a mirror on the back of the door, so not only did I have to see the puke on the door, I also got to see it in the mirror's reflection. Chunks of french fries and bagels all over the door/mirror/door knob. Dripping down onto the carpet.
Luckily I have a strong stomach.
Buster was incredibly apologetic. I know he felt really bad. But I wasn't mad at him. I know he would do it for me in a heartbeat.
We've laughed a lot about it since.
Lesson learned: on dart league nights, leave the bathroom door open.