I am not a confirmed ‘brand’ shopper. To me, it’s quality, rather than name. For example, the toilet roll advertised by adorable puppies will not flush in our toilet. Despite its well – publicised quality, I find it unwieldy and annoying. (I have hay fever at certain times of the year, therefore a plentiful supply of toilet roll on hand, in every room, not just the bathroom, is essential as my hay fever can get… messy.)
My partner prefers branded products, particularly ketchup. It is only by careful label swapping that I have managed to extend his taste range to encompass various supermarket own brands. Really, if you analysed both products, they’re probably exactly the same, just in different packaging.
But not tomato sauce. Not ever. Me, personally, I don’t care. Ketchup, catsup or tomato sauce, I only ever put it on chips anyway. I prefer mayonnaise. To each his own …
Rather like being sick. At this point, I must tell you I am an emetophobic … I have a fear of being sick, myself, and I’m not too fond of cleaning it up either. This fact virtually guarantees that I will be confronted with vomit at some point during the day.
I am always very traumatised when I am sick – one of the vilest sensations in the world, so I go to extraordinary lengths to avoid being sick. Indeed, I envy animals … a couple of back – wrinkling, gut churning retches and they deposit a tidy packet of puke ready for disposal …
“Ughhhhhh, knew I shouldn’t have had that last biscuit…”
It is very easy to tell when Erin, my mother’s dog, is going to be sick. She gets carefully to her feet, eyes bulging, a rumbling beginning beneath her ribs … This necessitates a rush for the back door, as Erin’s rumbles develop into full – blown “Hoick-hoicks”. When outside, she WALKS about still “hoicking” then finally… blessed relief.
My eyes are usually watering in sympathy as I let her back in. She slinks past, rolling her eyes shamefacedly as if to say:
“Well, I’m really sorry, but when you gotta go, you gotta go…”
Cats are a different matter altogether. I’ve never actually seen Tooty be sick.
Ninja Vomitter… Tooty
“Left a little something for you. You might want to think about getting the worming tablets out.”
Ting is horrified. She does a weird, face – contorting thing and her mouth opens wide and –
“OH. MY. GOD. I AM SO SORRY! DID I REALLY DO ALL THAT?”
Then she requires reassurance that it’s all right to be sick, it happens to the best of us, and is quite easily remedied.
Charlie, on the other hand, if such a thing is possible, is a very … dainty vomiter. If she was human, she’d be the sort of girl whose hair would be willingly held out of her face by boys while she puked and they would still want to take her home at the end of the evening. A delicate cough, and then whatever bothered her is gone. Doesn’t matter where she is, if she feels the occasion demands it then she will be sick. Down the back of the sofa. Halfway up the stairs. On one memorable, never-to-be-repeated evening, my partner’s clothes, neatly folded for morning.
There’s absolutely nothing wrong with her. I know because I took her to the vet… (“But this is the third time this week, Miss Murdoch. Sometimes cats DO just vomit…”)
Back at home, she will usually be sick again: “Now look what you made me do…” I comfort my little girl, praise her for being such a tidy puker, make sure she has fresh water and murmur tender words of love and reassurance into her sensitive ears. She has proved her point. It’s my fault…
[I must thank Alex of BrianAndLily for the idea for this post… I don’t quite remember how the conversation started, but I know it was funny!]