We're celebrating the Fourth of July by hanging out down by the shore. Today we had an awesome lunch at a little dive. But, I had to ride home in the middle of the backseat between my brother and brother-in-law. And, adjusting for the humidity, the temperature outside is hovering somewhere around 347 degrees. Have I mentioned that I get carsick?
Then my dad and bro-in-law started arguing some topic of local news because it makes them as happy as pigs in slop to debate each other. Have I mentioned that I'm the most non-confrontational person that ever walked the face of the earth?
The more vexed my dad got by the argument, the more jerky his driving became - and this was around the curvy, naturally-puke-inducing roads of the shore. The only thing that kept me from vomiting was the fear of solidifying my freshly discovered childhood nickname.
And, I've thought this through. I just don't think there is any way to make "Puke Chunk" trendy and hip.
1 comment:
Ooh, Ali. I feel your pain. Mama used to say that I never arrived at our final destination with clothes on my body. I always threw up enroute. Sorry the puke gene was passed to you. ILY
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