Monday, 11 July 2011

I'd get the buckets out for this one... just in case.

If I fall asleep in the middle of this post it's not because I've bored myself into a stupor (I hope), it's more likely due to the fact that I am completely knackered from yesterday's awesome but unbelievably packed schedule. 

You see, yesterday was the birthday of my oldest friend in the whole world (in terms of how long I've known her, not in terms of how old she is (Claire-The-Bully and Rachael-The-Bully are far further in the lead with that one)). 

I've introduced a lot of friends in my life to you guys over the months but alas this girl has yet to come up because in December I carelessly (for a second time) moved away from her and now I barely get to see her anymore. Her name is Oldest-Friend-Cafrin. I have known her for 15 years and in all that time we have never once had an argument. She is simply one of the most understanding, loyal and freakin hilarious people I have ever met. 

She also has a four year old daughter who happens to be my God daughter. Her name is Chloe and that girl is AWESOME. 

Yesterday we went to Alton Towers which (for those of you who aren't local) is miles away

We went up the day before, stayed at a bed and breakfast and then spent the day in the massive theme park. 

I've no doubt my God daughter loves me and she did tell me so on many an occasion yesterday, but unfortunately there is a little effect I tend to have on her whenever I get into a car with her. 

This effect is not a pleasant one... For anyone involved. But for some reason, when Chloe sits behind me in long car journeys, she will decide that this would be a good time to projectile vomit across the car. 

This, I'm assured, only happens when I'm there and last night she repeated the experience I was all too familiar with. This (bless her heart) set her into a state of tears, claiming that it was all her fault and she was so sorry. This of course being met with a series of reassurances from everyone in the car. 

Just as the smell was reaching a point where I felt I might join her in emptying the contents of my stomach as well, we managed to get off the motorway and begin the clean up process. 

The first time this had happened (when she was just 3 years old) we had managed to calm her down pretty quickly. Even to the point where she was able to turn her big brown eyes to Oldest-Friend-Cafrin and say "That was a little bit gross, wasn't it mummy?"

This time however, it took a little bit more convincing. Obviously I felt entirely guilty about this as it was quite obvious who was the common denominator in all this and so who's fault it truly was... 

Poor girl will never get into a car with me again. Even if she wanted to, I'm pretty sure her dad Steve wouldn't allow it, his car's beginning to develop a permanent smell nowadays...

So there you have it, my reason for not having any kids of my own. It's not because of my crippling commitment phobias, it's not even (as it has been hinted) to spite my mother and gran. Nope, it's  because my very presence makes four year olds projectile vomit.

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