This post is about barfing

Just thought I’d throw that out there. In case you don’t like reading about vomit. But who doesn’t?

Besides, this is not about vomit. It’s about love. It’s about how I have the best fucking boyfriend in the whole world.

Last night we went up to see his parents. It’s a 45 minute drive through winding roads. Over the course of the evening I began to get nauseous and I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking. Of all the hours that we were there all I could do was dry heave.

Bear with me…bare with me? It’s bear right?

On the drive home I had to have the boyfriend pull the truck over on the side of the road at which point i threw the dog at him, leapt out and collapsed into the dirt, dry heaving my guts out. A few minutes and a lot of deep breathing later I got back into the truck and we made it home.

We pulled up and parked on front of our landlord’s house (we live behind it). My boyfriend told me he’d take the dog and to just go inside. I nodded. Opened the door.

And barfed everywhere.

I threw up directly onto my motorcyle boots and then all over my landlord’s yard.

Why am I telling you this story?

Because the boyfriend calmly picked up the dog so he wouldn’t eat all the barf and then he came over and held my hair back for me.

What an awesome man.

He even went down and hosed off the sidewalk afterwards.

I can’t think of too many men I’ve dated that would be that sweet while I was puking up oreos and potstickers.

That right there, kids, that’s love.

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