Yep. So that happened. Exactly what it sounds like, whereas “poop” is the adjective, describing the vomit. No wonder H hates Charlie. I did too, especially when he coughed up two piles of poop vomit, once on the stairs and once on the wood floor.
Want to get sympathy? Truck over to Wal-Mart at midnight, only purchasing rags, “Urine Be Gone” and Anti-Coprophagia pills. Even the midnight Wal-Mart cashier can piece together that something has gone terribly, horribly wrong.
Dry heaving into your sweatshirt while putting piles of vomit-soaked paper towels into Ziploc freezer bags just isn’t a pleasant experience. And while I tried to tell H that this is just preparation for the exploding excrement of our future offspring, he didn’t seem to qualify it as a proper excuse.
So eat up, Charlie. Just know that the next time, I may be waiting around the corner to spray you with the hose, right into your face.