And bless you, Phil, for regurgitating the thread.

When Richie was a baby I kissed him and as I did so he puked in my mouth, bless him. You know that milky stuff that comes out of both ends of babies!

Oh, say, before we abandon this topic, I think it behooves y’all to know that once upon a time Renner was obliged to pull his car over to the shoulder out by Mountain Creek Lake so that I could open the door, hang out my head, and heave like there was no tomorrow.

This was in the very early 1970s; as I recall, ‘whoop’ (‘oo’ as in ‘book’) was the word favored within our immediate circle.

I was visited by the barf-fairy.

&

“Oh, my goodness! Ricky Cameron!”

Sheila, I think you’ve summed this up nicely.

Ah, but I digress. In the wee hours one morning, I was visited by the barf-fairy. I lay in bed until I knew I had to get there.

“Now!”

I jumped up ran down the hallway and let go of my gorge from the top. Nary a drop touched the stairs. Still hurrying, but being “careful,” I half-vaulted down, hit the slick on the linoleum floor at the bottom. My heels flew upward. I slid halfway across the kitchen.

My Dad, up from all the commotion, in his tighty-white Hanes, and only second to me in his desire to avoid chucking up, said, “Oh, my goodness! Ricky Cameron!”

I mean, I eat stuff that’s been sitting out for days.

First time for me, early 90s in South Carolina. Sound engineering gig (we called ‘em gigs) at a meeting at a nice coastal golf resort. Shrimp Caesar salad for lunch at a fancy clubhouse. 72 hours of the most amazing vomiting and diarrhea. Had to lie down underneath the audio mixing board during rehearsal.

Second time was about five years ago right after starting my present job. Arby’s. The source of the FP, not my job. Not as bad as the first time but bad enough to make me very sad.

Third time was two years ago in Hong Kong. I’d been terrified of getting sick the whole ten days I was in China, and got bit on my last night. In mainland China for most of the trip I’d been using bottled water to brush my teeth, for God’s sake. Try flying for 15 hours when you’re feeling that fine. Ironically, after all the weird stuff I ate over there, I think I got FP from some fish and chips I had at a funky little pub in Port Stanley.

I’m not talking “48 hour flu”. My first and third times were about me wondering if I was going to die far from my home and family. Ack.

Do not eat at the Denny’s right near LAX.
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*”flying on a big airliner”