“Last night I woke up to the worst sound in the world,” said Don.
“What?” asked Frances. The two were standing in line at Starbucks.
“The sound of my son throwing up.”
Frances cringed. “That’s bad.”
“At first I thought it was in my dream, like I was still asleep, you know? I was really hoping it was. Then I heard him throw up again,” said Don.
“What did you do?”
“Honestly? The next thing I did was pray he hit the toilet.”
Don grimaced. “Nope.”
“It was all over the bathroom floor. In the sink. Somehow he even splashed in the bathtub,” explained Don. “You’d think he’d get some of it in the toilet, but no.”
“That’s awful,” said Frances as she suppressed a smile.
A person beside them groaned.
Don looked annoyed. “You think that’s funny?”
“No,” said Frances.
“Good, because that’s not the worst part.”
“It gets worse?”
“The stench. We had hamburger casserole for dinner. He got it in his hair, down his pyjamas and into his slippers. I swear, it was so bad buzzards started circling,” said Don.
A dry heave came from the person beside them.
Frances shook her head. “It must have been quite the sight.”
At that moment, the person beside them vomited all over the pastry display. Don and Frances immediately stepped out of the line of fire. The second wave shot across the counter, splashing the barista at the register. The third wave reached the food preparation counter.
“It kinda looked like that,” mused Don.
Frances nodded in recognition. “Still want coffee?” she asked.
“Absolutely. I’m exhausted from last night. But maybe not from here,” replied Don. “There’s another Starbucks closer to work.
Frances took Don’s arm. “Lead the way.”