My brother lives out of town and occasionally he comes home for the weekend to visit. Typically he gets in late Friday night, we chillax on Saturday, and before he leaves on Sunday we go out to breakfast at a local diner. The same diner we always have breakfast at. A little Greek joint where the food is great, the prices cheap, and kids try and stack the coffee creamers (myself included- I’m stellar at it now).
He was recently here for one of his visits and it had been quite awhile since we had seen him so it was nice to catch up. Sunday morning we met up with my parents and brother for the typical deportation breakfast. Let’s set the scene….
It’s 10 am, and my kid has been up and fed for 2 hours. You think the process of digestion would have begun for her. We squish the kid between us so that we can be on either side of her. Ya know….for safety reasons. Don’t be confused…this is not for her safety. It’s for your safety. Listen Lady, I’m concerned with the safety of the poor, unsuspecting patrons at this diner, because when she wings her plate wildly out of control like ‘Odd Jobs’ hat in a James Bond Flick or tries to stab someone with a fork, we can at the very least, contain the collateral damage.
The waitress walks over with our 6 plates of food and is just setting them down as we hear gurgle….. cough….. burp….. and then the explosion comes spewing out of Cardin’s mouth like Mount St. Helens. I would like to take this time to remind you that we have been seated, ordered, and were waiting for our food for a good 20 minutes before all this took place. At the exact moment of food delivery my sweet, precious angel decided to spew all her food in a fit of glory at this diner. The look I received from the waitress was undeniably one of pity and sorrow as I cupped my hands under Cardin’s mouth to catch the offending disaster.
Internet. Oh Internet, to save your stomach contents I’ll leave the gory details out, but a new outfit, and one roll of paper towel, and twenty minutes later, we were all cleaned up and ready to eat our piping COLD breakfast. Awesome.
Somewhere in the middle of my Chocolate Chip pancakes (yes, I still eat chocolate chip pancakes, what of it?) I could not get over the vomit smell. Everything was clean, and my hands had been burned of all existing flesh, the dirty clothes had been put away into a plastic bag and were sealed….why was my nose so offended? It hit me as I looked down at my t-shirt, some of the residual catastrophe had landed on my shoulder and for the remainder of deportation breakfast I ate cold Chocolate Chip pancakes laced with the smell of vomit. I’m living the life of a gangsta.