Bunkbeds

Every time I think of bunkbeds all I can think of is how there was that one time when I was sick in the middle of the night. What do you do when you're on the top bunk of a bunkbed and you know you can't make it to the bathroom in time?

Lean over the side and vomit all over your sleeping sister, of course. And her dresser drawers, and the wall, the fishtank, half the carpet and your sister's sticker collection.

I went and told my parents and they were completely disgusted, but they found me another pair of pyjamas and a new set of sheets and I crawled back into bed and fell back asleep with the lights on, while my parents attempted to clean up as best they could without waking my sister.

You see, when my sister was little, she was one of the most sensitive girls known to man. Even the mention of throwing up would cause her to gag and unleash the contents of her stomach upon the world. If she smelled something gross, she would vomit. If she was angry or sad, she'd do the same. She was so good at vomiting on command that we considered selling her to the circus. Well, I did.

They definitely did not want her waking up.

Somehow they managed to change the sheets on her bed without her noticing, and they even cleaned the worst bits out of her hair. Then they set about spending well over an hour putting the room back in order.

I only noticed their efforts when someone poked me and woke me up about an hour and a half later, and I was laying in a pool of fresh vomit. They were too tired to be pissed off, so they got me yet another set of sheets and pyjamas and then we all went back to bed.

And though my sister has absolutely no recollection of the event whatsoever, she still won't forgive me for that.

Sometimes I wonder why my parents don't have more grey hair.