Touché Karma, Touché

Have you guys seen this floating around the internet? This Dad texts his wife after his son projectile vomits in the car, and hilarity ensues. In case you missed it:

Anyway, I retell this hysterical tale to the Hubster yesterday morning, hardly getting through it due to my laughing fits. Our day continues on. I pack up Emerson in the car between downpours and we head out to the MVA to get my car’s emissions test done. We make it there and Emerson starts whining a bit in the back seat. No big deal, it’s about the point where she’s probably getting hungry. I hand her back a juice box to occupy her for a few minutes as we wait in line. 
The car ahead of me is now going. Then it happens. Emerson coughs, and then she gags, and then she throws up. I slowly turn around asking, “are you….” and trail off because I’m met with a scene that could have rivaled The Exorcist. “okaaaaaaayyyy…?” Sigh. Oh Boy. 
I hop out into the pouring rain and silently pray, thanking the universe that I grabbed a full pack of wipes at the last second. I run around and open up her door. I make eye contact with the service man who is now calling me in since it’s my turn. A couple of cars wait behind me. Oh, and I decided it was the perfect day to wear a white tee shirt. 
I yell over, “HANG ON, I’ve got a situation! I’ll be right there!” I quickly wipe Emerson’s mouth and face and hands, and hop back in to drive the car up. I hop back out and breathlessly explain:
“I’m so sorry, she just, all of a sudden… BOOM! I… I… I’m really sorry. I can continue to clean her up right? I don’t have to just stand here?” *points to an “x” on the ground where the driver usually stands.*
I get the go ahead from the service man who is probably holding his breath and I reopen her door. It takes every ounce of my will power and strength to not throw up on Emerson, in front of this service man,  as I reach for the wipes again. 

My car passes, and we’re on our way again. I pull over into the first parking lot I can see and hang out in the downpour as I clean up the backseat the best I can, dry heaving now and then.  Soaked in my white tee, with my daughter dressed in some way-too-small, but clean clothes I found in the trunk, we finally head home.

Touché, Karma, touché. 

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