Do you know that LapBand Gal is 18 months post-op and never PB'd? You read that correctly (I do realize there are a few of you responsible chewers and eaters out there that have never gotten stuck to the point of projectile food). Well, I didn't want her to feel left out...so I gave her the closest thing to a PB. I did it for her. On the streets of San Fran.
Here we are on Thursday night at a yummy little restaurant called A16. Basically is was a shee shee poo poo Italian restaurant where I wouldnt have known what to order bc they used fancy descriptive Italian words (I am familiar with Ragu...Classico)...but it was delicious. As was all the wine.
We ate lunch in Macy's and I ordered chili. I figured this would be safe! I ate almost half of my bowl and took a swig of pop as we headed out. As we were heading up the escalator I said to LPG, "this could be bad".
She actually looked excited for a moment. She wanted to know what it felt like. I was doing the silent and yet ineffective lapband prayer in my head "please go down, please go down". On our way out, I went to grab an umbrella bag just in case.
I knew that if it was coming up, it was going to be a fast one. The back of my jaw was getting "that feeling"...and I could feel the pop bubbling up. Well, we made it about 10 feet. And there, across from the iconic Union Square, pressed against Macy's, with the little Lapband Gal shielding me as best as her skinny ass could...
up came the foam. And then the foam out of the nose happened. No napkin. No hanky. Only my sleeve for clean up.
It was classy to say the least.
But I felt better and we trotted off to Victoria Secret.