One of my least favorite things in this world is vomit. I hate everything about it. In fact, I am sure that I have a vomit phobia…. I have memories of being four years old and plugging my ears and running away from my puking sister. Also, in the last 20 years, I have only puked once. I hate it that much.
I am sure I’m not the only one who hates vomit.
Anyhow, another gross thing: Mold. It is gross in its own way, but when you think of the microscopic fungus spores spewing forth from the top of the fuzzy, stinky film… Gross.
With all this being said, you can imagine the horror (and held back gags) when I discovered a bag filled with A’s pyjamas and our bathroom rug all balled up and covered in vomit… from last week. Yes. Last week.
The English language does not have a word that can encompass the absolute disgustingness associated with Moldy Vomit.
Also, I’m apparently not supposed to be upset with my husband for leaving this bag of goodies for me to find 5 days after the fact. I mean, he only just forgot about it until I mentioned it. No biggie. Just Moldy Vomit.