Saturday, April 23, 2011

Why I don't eat warm pineapple...

Easter was a big deal growing up. It meant new dresses, white shoes and a floppy pink hat.

It also meant Easter Eve Lunch at Pawpaw and Grammy's. The table filled with all of Grammy's most popular endeavors...deviled eggs, green beans, mashed potatoes, squash casserole, cole slaw (are you salivating yet? I am.), fresh rolls and a ham. A giant honey-baked ham with large, yellow rings of pineapple stuck all over with tooth picks.

Those pineapples were my absolute favorite part of Easter Eve Lunch and Grammy would always set them aside for me. My cousins from Memphis were in town and I was sitting with my two younger cousins on the front porch while enjoying every bite of those warm pineapple rings. Unaware of the havoc they would later bring.

12 hours later, disaster struck. I lurched awake. Every cell inside my body was revolting and demanded me to let it out. I began to run down the hallway, vomit leaking out as I gagged. I finally made it to the bathroom and couldn't keep it inside anymore. I threw up on the bathroom floor and then made it to the the toilet where I continued to retch.

Preface: My father doesn't like sticky, slimey, gooey, or slick substances. Do you see where this is going? No? You will...

Upon hearing the horrible sounds that I'm sure I was omitting my parents came running. Mom came in first place and slid (literally) into the bathroom to my rescue, not even noticing she just slid in vomit (she's a nurse - gross comes with the territory). Dad came in a close second and slid (twice) in after her, cringing because of the slime and banging his leg on the cabinet which resulted in a "SHHH!" While I know he was concerned about me and the fact that I was sick, I could tell he was obsessed with the throw up on his pajama pants. I felt so bad. But couldn't help but laugh at his grossed out antics. He definitely took my mind off of how awful I was feeling and replaced that with laughter, something my dad is really good at doing. Thankfully, I married someone who also would rather see me laugh than cry or be sick. For me....laughter is the best medicine.

I didn't get to wear my new dress, white shoes or pink floppy hat that year. I remained in the recliner in my (clean) night gown sipping clear soda and eating saltines for Easter Sunday that year. And I haven't eaten warm pineapple since.

*Mom and I still joke about the look on Dad's face when he came sliding into the rescue! (Keep in mind that this is the man who didn't even flinch until after he wrangled a really long black snake out of his car.) And a little vomit gets him's pretty hilarious to me! Love you Dad.

1 comment:

  1. Great story--We all have our puking memories, don't we?! For me, I can't drink Gatorade (of any flavor), because that's what we drank when we were sick...