case
meets
point
the babby was feeling sick last night.
totally interrupted a very inane episode of happy endings.
what do you want the bastard to watch? downtown abbey?
come on! the bastard likes a little stupid in it once in a while.
and there's something about a food truck called 'steak me home tonight'.
mmmmmm. steak.
anyway, I digress.
the babby woke up in a pile of her own sick last night and it was time for the rents to spring into action.
the wife did the consoling
and
the bastard did the cleanup. because what woman wants to look at puke.
seriously!
anyway after after dumping the sick laden stuff into the washer (I could go one about the majesty of having one in your apartment, and I hate you all, so I might. but not today).
then it settles down and the wife goes to bed and my buddy doctor whiskey knocks at the cupboard door telling me,
"hey stupid… it's time for whiskey". so I oblige.
two hours later (from the puking not the whiskey option), I hear a gaggy cough and I know it's round two of sick time.
and there she is,
leaning over the side of her crib.
giving the floor a green shower.
instead of doing it in the crib.
smart girl.
learning to walk is dope and all but, knowing where to throw yer sick? that's a fucking skill.
made me proud.
small shit. but it's big too. up yours.
— the bastard
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