The other night I was woken at 3am by a shadowy figure standing next to my bed. Because I have watched WAY too many episodes of Criminal Minds, as soon as I opened my eyes I was overcome by a wave of terror.
(Side note: I have only ever watched Criminal Minds for the sexual chocolate that is Shemar Moore. Due to the content of the show, rather than dreaming about him calling me “baby girl”, I instead have nightmares about the serial killers coming after me. Even though I no longer watch it – because sexual chocolate is not on the show anymore – I have obviously watched enough episodes to give myself PTSD from it).
Then, the shadowy figure spoke:
“Mum, I feel like I’m going to vomit”.
Instantly the wave of terror was gone. It was replaced by a tsunami of terror. The one thing I fear more than serial killers, is gastro. Vomiting, diarrhoea, any kind of unwanted expulsion of bodily fluids just Freaks. Me. Out. It is a massive phobia of mine.
Frantically I started fumbling through my bedside drawer for a vomit bag: not there. I asked the shadowy, 12 year old figure about to vomit why he hadn’t grabbed the vomit bag from his bedside table (couldn’t find it).
(Yes, we do keep vomit bags on our bedside tables in our family. As I mentioned earlier: massive phobia. And no, my 3am foggy brain did not think to ask him why he hadn’t gone directly to the toilet, or the bathroom sink, or to his dad: all of which he had to walk straight past to get to me!)
So I leapt out of bed in search of a vomit bag. (Past experience has taught me not to use a large stainless steel bowl as the curved sides act as a ramp to propel the vomit up and out of the bowl in several directions simultaneously). I thought perhaps there was one in the kitchen pantry, but I knew with 100% certainty there was one in the glovebox of my car. No time to waste looking in the pantry, I rushed to grab my car keys, flung open the front door and raced outside to be confronted by……………………….two kangaroos.
Now, one of the perks of living in the foothills is our close proximity to the wildlife, particularly koalas and kangaroos. But at 3am, standing half dressed on my front porch, it felt less like a perk and more like a potentially perilous situation.
Now I was in a predicament. Possible projectile vomit vs possible mauling by a kangaroo.
It was a no brainer.
Still in my undies, I pushed past the kangaroos, opened the car, and emerged victorious from the glove box, holding the “Chuckies” vomit bag aloft like a gold medallist, and raced back past the kangaroos, inside the house to my 12 year old who was………………………………. asleep. In my bed.
Turns out he was just hot.
Musings Of A Footy Mum 