IMG_4554A few weekends ago, another couple asked us to go out to dinner. Adult evenings being few and far between, this was an exciting proposition.

They gave us about a month lead-time so we were easily able to secure a sitter, we emailed back and forth about potential eating establishments eventually reaching agreement and… there isn't really a third thing but it always feels like there should be for flow purposes.

Unfortunately, on the day of our "big event", the other couple called to say their sitter fell through. They suggested we still have dinner at their place, we should just bring Mazzy. All the kids (they have two) could play while we attempted to have ourselves a dinner party at home.

Okay, sure.

I still wore something pretty and got Mazzy dolled up for the occasion. Our friends live out in the 'burbs so we had to travel by car along with a diaper bag, alternative food options, preferred cutlery, pajamas for the ride home and lastly, a pack 'n play on the off chance that Mazzy couldn't hack staying up a little later than usual and needed to be "put down".

After thirty minutes in the car, we pulled into the driveway of our friends' house and I climbed into the back to get Mazzy out of the carseat.

As I pulled her out (me in the middle of the backseat with her facing toward me), she gave me a funny look.

"What is it, Maz?"

"In about 4.2 seconds, I am going to puke up every ounce of food I have ingested within the past five days so I suggest you throw me on the front lawn and then run as far away as possible."

Only she didn't say that (she's two) and I didn't move.

"Are you ok?"

"Nope. I am not okay. I wasn't prepared for this car ride and if memory serves, today you have fed me a steady diet of acid and dairy. It will be orange. Very, very orange."

"Mike— I think something is wrong with Mazzy."

"Dad. Since Mom doesn't appear to be moving even though I have explained the situation to her twice, can you please ask your friends if they have a plastic dropcloth to lay on top of her and the backseat? If not, the next month of your life is going to be dedicated to cleaning out and fumagating the car."

"What did she eat?"

"She had an orange before we left and then drank milk in the car. Maybe that was a bad combination. She really doesn't look good."

"Seriously guys. I am about to throw up all over EVERYTHING. There will be so much puke that you will not be sure how to best get out of the car. And then you are going to have to ring the doorbell of your friends' house while holding my puke-soaked body outstretched like a ticking time bomb. And your friends will make understanding yet also disgusted faces as they reluctantly let you in. And then instead of a lovely dinner, you are both going to have to give me a bath. And mom is going to have to hose herself down in the guest shower but she's not going to be able to do much about her hair. And then she's gonna have no choice but to borrow clothes from someone who is a size zero and she will spend the next few hours feeling terribly self-conscious in pants and a sweater meant for people with bodies like Gwyneth Paltrow. And everyone will sit there smiling when really they will be thinking that if you had just had the foresight to take me out of the car two seconds earlier and point me towards a bush than this meticulously planned adult evening wouldn't have taken such a turn for the—"


It went down exactly as Mazzy said.

If only we had listened.