Incident at the end of Cowboys-Giants

This is the story of the lemon squares incident. It happened in the waning moments of the Giants-Cowboys game tonight.

Flashback to this afternoon. I watched the Texans eke out a victory over Tennessee. I began my cough again. I coughed until I thought I would expire. I saw spots in front of my eyes, things were getting darker and I was beginning to reflect on my childhood. I couldn't breathe, I was short of breath. I think I found Cher's stomach.

With three dots showing on the gas gauge, I went to pick my wife up at the airport. I circled the airport 8 times and parked anyway. She was standing there when I walked up to passenger pickup. While she had made her connection, her bag didn't. (Like the helpful hubby I am, I'm waiting up for them to deliver it to the door while she sleeps.)

Strike one. I stayed up last night til after midnight to try and get her Christmas present at the all-night Wal-Mart. I missed one or two doses a day of medication while she was gone. Strike two and foul tip.

Going into the parking lot, the arm lifted w/o me getting a ticket so I didn't get one. Broken-bat foul screamer at the coach's head. Luckily, the EZ-tag was the reason, so she only had to back out of the Visa lane against traffic swerving and honking to get far enuf back to go thru the EZ-tag line. A vicious cut resulting in a foul-tip that went off my bare ankle.

We started back with two dots on the gas gauge. It started to sprinkle. Ful-tip into thecatcher's mit. We had to go str8 home and whip up a salad for church supper we then went str8 to where no one touched her salad. Back home we got to watch a nice(?) Lifetime Channel Christmas show. Instant replay review in booth restored me back to only 2 strikes.

She headed for the bathtub when the Lifetime show was over while I turned (trumpet flourish worthy of 20th Century Fox movie intro) to the waning moments of the Giants-Cowboys game. I coughed a fit and up-chucked. With the footrest up, and no rag handy, I swallowed down (Ugh) most of it, spitting a handful on my shirt. With action befitting a non-Parkie, I dammed it up within the folds of my shirt and waited for it to dry enough to get up and continued to watch the Giants knock on Dallas' door. A few passes and I went into a second or third, I forget which, coughing fit. I up-chucked a stomach-full right smack in the mdddle of the remote, filling my lap. Squeezing my legs together, now sacrificing my slacks, I held the puke from the chair. Clamping my legs until they cramped, I began yet another coughing fit. Yes, I upchucked another mouthful of vile, er bile. Since my lap was full, I searched frantically for something within reach, spying my half-finished mug of a drink. I spit it up into the mug. Dallas won.

"Help!" I called frantically, unheard over the roar of the jacuzzi. I sounded as pitiful as I felt. No reply. I called out some more. I called home from the cell phone in my pocket, letting it ring loudly. It too fell on deaf ears with her wondering why I didn't answer the damn phone. I called again to no avail. I turned up the TV until my brain rattled, again to no avail. The bedroom door opened a sliver and a voice from inside said something about the phone.

"Help!" I again pleaded with more confidence. She stepped thru the door asking who was on the phone. Me, I replied, could she please help by getting something to sop up the vomit so I could get up from the chair. I explained what happened, she curled up her nose., making a face. Strike three I muttered. She handed me my towel and I handed her the mug of Pepsi Puke. Rescued at last! Rising I went to Febreeze the remote and clean it, nay, detail it with Q-tips. As you envision me here with a pukey shirt and slacks, what, pray do tell, you ask, does this have to do with lemon squares? The vomit looked like Chinese Lemon Square broth, clear, barely yellow, with bits of lemon square. Yccck, too much info I know. Now I wait, struck out, gift-less, coughing, fuming up the joint, waiting for the errant suitcase. Molotov!