Projectile Vomiting: Unheard of in Jane Austen Novels

8/16/2011 The Charmer 3 Comments

But apparently, it sometimes occurs in my dating life.

I guess that's just one more reason why my life is not a Jane Austen novel.

Last week, I had my first experience with Tucanos. Remember YogurtBoy? Well, the week he asked for my number we went out to lunch to this little Mexican place. He asked me out again, and so last week we went to Tucanos.

And what girl in her right mind turns down Tucanos?!

(Plus, I'd never been there before and it's been on my RESTAURANTS TO TRY list for a while now.)

YogurtBoy and I met up with his sister (who was celebrating her birthday, hence the Tucanos birthday lunch), his sister's boyfriend, and his sister's boyfriend's guy friend who must have missed the "bring a date" memo and consequently got to be the awkward 5th wheel the whole time. (Poor guy)

For those of you who haven't been, Tucanos was awesome. Since it was my first time, I was trying everything. And I'll admit, I probably ate a little (or a lot more) than I should have. The date was going well, too. I didn't at any point feel that sought-after "spark" with YogurtBoy, but I was definitely enjoying his company and the company of the other people on the date.

We finish our meal, the birthday girl finishes her birthday dance and chant, and we're sitting around chatting and waiting for the bill when I start feeling nauseous. At first, I brush it off as nothing. I'd been feeling kind of sick the past couple of weeks and unfortunately feeling nauseous after I eat has become a frequent occurrence.

But then I realize, nope, this isn't the usual case of after-meal nausea. I'm pretty sure I'm actually going to throw up.

I try to weigh the options in my head. Would it be absolutely terrible if I asked him to pull over on the way home so I could throw up on the side of the road? I give this a few seconds of thought and realize that I'm not going to make it that long. I start weighing the consequences again. What would happen if I threw up right here at the table?

During this inner monologue, YogurtBoy is asking me all sorts of pointless yet apparently necessary get-to-know-you questions, like "If you could only have one of the five senses, which would it be?" I had just replied with, "Sight" when I realized that I truly was about to throw up all over my date unless I hightailed it out of there immediately.

I excused myself and made my way (quickly) to the bathroom.

I'd gotten out of there just in time.

Well, okay, my timing was a little off. I didn't quite make it all the way into the stall.

I'll spare you the gory details, but just know that I have never thrown up so powerfully in my life. It was the very definition of projectile vomiting. I actually hit the back of the stall.

Yeah. Powerful stuff.

Anyways, I threw up twice and then felt completely fine. I took a few seconds to clean up the mess and make sure that nothing else was planning on coming back up, inspected myself in the mirror for any traces of wayward barf, and then made my way back out to the table.

If it had only been the two of us, I might have told YogurtBoy. But because I didn't actually want to share the details of what occurred between me and Stall #1 with everyone at the table, I didn't say a word. They had no idea that I had just thrown up all the garlic sirloin and grilled pineapple and passionfruit lemonade I'd shoveled down.
And I'm pretty sure it's better that way.

So that was my experience with Tucanos and projectile vomiting. It's not quite Pride and Prejudice, but I think it's a terribly fabulous story.

Next time, I'd better remember to follow the advice of a wise, wise woman:



With a sheepish shrug,
The Charmer