From: nospamum@radix.net (Mumthra)

Subject: Spunky Spews Stuff

Date: 23 Apr 1999 00:00:00 GMT

Reply-To: nospamum@radix.net

Newsgroups: alt.foot.fat-free

 

 

[this story contain excessive descriptions of misplaced body fluids]

 

It was obvious early this morning that I wasn't going to make it to

the office. Spunky was whimpering that her eyes HORT and her head HORT

and anything else I asked about HORT. When she asked me to take her to

the doctor, I knew that something weird was brewing in her little

person.

 

We delivered Sparky with no real difficulty, although Spunky squealed

most of the time that the baby was HORTING her. Bo thinks that

smacking people--even people who will hit her back doubly hard--is a

fantastic form of free entertainment. We are all learning to be ready

for her sneak smack attacks, and I've found that the only effective

countermeasure is to put up my hands and derail all that energy into a

frantic high-five exchange.

 

Spunky normally just growls and slaps back and ends the game right

there, but she was feeling very victimish today. As soon as Sparky

leapt from the car, she slithered into the front seat with genuine

relief. I felt her forehead again and checked her identity.

 

The doctor's office was wild with overbooked appointments to see other

children who had succumbed to the drizzle fever or whateveritis. "It's

this damned WEATHER," said the receptionist, "Can you come a 2:30?"

 

That left us with a lot of time to loaf and moan and not eat. I

snuggled up to Spunky on the couch and explained that she should at

least TRY to eat a bowl of Fruit Loops. Bo became aware of this

conference and attacked with friendly fervor.

 

Spunky made a good effort at her Fruit Loops and Bo tried on all the

shoes she could find. We all watched lots of animated anthropomorphic

predators behave nicely and share on TV.

 

An hour before her appointment, I coaxed Spunky back into clothes. It

took entirely too much negotiating, but she had been enjoying rolling

in the hallway with the baby. Together, they had assembled every

pillow and bed cover in the house into a big pile on which they took

turns flinging themselves and snoring. It was the typical Imitative

Play Thing, I guess.

 

Very abruptly, as if the shorts I pulled up her little legs had

transferred some sort of dark energy, Spunky began to reel and groan.

"I DOAN feel even a little bit good! AAAAaaaagggguhmph."

 

Just a fraction too slowly, I guided her stumbly self into the

bathroom. She looked at the toilet and vomited a frightening stream of

bright green, mostly digested loot froops with what I would judge as

passable accuracy for a first try. That's to say that she NEARLY

landed a flushable projectile vomit. I've never seen anything like it,

and I must admit I might have fainted with pride if she'd actually

done better than a silver medal performance.

 

That's my girl!

 

She was weakened, but not bent by the time we made it to the car. She

retched upstairs, downstairs, in the hall and in the front seat.

Thinking still not quickly enough, the best I had been able to do was

to keep her supplied with clear plastic baggies, which she obligingly

baptized.

 

Her shaky little finger reached forward to punch her favorite

classical radio station as we pulled away, so I knew she would live.

To a soothing sonata, she retched a bit more. Gamely, she barfed along

with Bach. In between, she seemed to only have a sort of twilight

consciousness.

 

In an unprecedented bit of luck, we landed the perfect parking space,

and I was able to carry her forty-three pounds of potential vomit

machine all the way into the doctor's office.

 

Nurse Bea cocked an eyebrow at me, "Fruit Loops, Mom?" as if I

deserved what I got, and I was certain that I did. Nurse Bea is always

right. They woke her long enough to confirm that she was untreatable,

and gave us some free analgesic and good wishes before we left.

 

The rest of the family was unreasonably glad to see us, and Sparky was

very pleased to be the only one who wasn't suffering from any sort of

disgusting or anti-social behavior.

 

Spunky remained listless and silent until the medicine did its magic

and the fever broke. Sparky and I were talking about police, and I

mentioned that Spunky had a policeman in her classroom the day before.

 

Spunky spoke up with her usual clarity, "He didn't show us anything

about his guns."

 

"Was he wearing a gun?" I asked.

 

"Oh yes," she said, considering. "I had a really good question: what

if a bad guy dressed up with police clothes and those shoulder things

and only looked like a police when he was really a bad guy?"

 

"That IS a good question," I said, "but I don't think it happens very

often. It's hard to get good police clothes and besides, bad guys

aren't that smart."

 

She seemed satisfied with that, and went on to say that he was her

Very First Policeman Ever.

 

I guess that a paucity of police is a sign that we're doing something

right, even if urging Fruit Loops is just plain wrong.

 

 

----------------------------------------------------------

This was probably from Mumthra.

"So you'd have to take it on faith that it was in fact

a tentacle and not, say, a potato." --Jahweh Dave Lynch