I like the word repugnant and I think I know what it means. I’m a little unclear on how it’s pronounced, and probably won’t ever use the word in spoken conversation. I think probably that’s because when one expresses disgust, one doesn’t need fancy words — just the ability to arrange one’s facial muscles in an appropriate horrified grimace.
[note: I originally wrote the paragraph above about the word puerile, which I thought mean “disgusting” but it totally does not! I’M LEARNING THINGS]
Let’s make a list of grossness. I’m sorry or you’re welcome, depending on if you like talking about what I like talking about. Consider this my therapy. Hang onto your hat.
- Mary Roach mentions in her book Gulp that a group of researchers agreed that old saliva was the grossest smell possible. I would find and reprint the actual passage from this very, very entertaining book, but that would involve reloading the book onto my iPad, and just typing that made me fall asleep, so no.
- The Haycox family group agreed that this summer’s Sierras Garbage Incident qualified as the grossest smell possible. As we were all cleaning up in the cabin, a forgotten garbage bag was pulled out of a neglected can in the back of the hallway. Little did we know it contained fish guts, mostly liquified from time and heat. Too bad an unlucky family member tore the bag as he ran from the house to the front yard, and sprayed this vile cologne everywhere, just everywhere. I laugh about it now, but even the longest-fused kin were furious and in a most impotent fashion, since the fish-gutting culprits were long gone.
- Last night I happened to arrive at my supermarket just as a big tank truck lifted a lid set into the surface of the parking lot and started vacuuming up whatever was in there into the truck. By the time I got my purchases and went outside, the smell (which I verify as sewage) was incomprehensible. I actually dry-heaved in my car as I sped away.
- Speaking of cars! I touched upon it briefly in this blog post, but my new, improved migraine behavior is to ramp from nausea to vomiting in a distressingly short amount of time. This happened over the summer while driving. I pulled into a parking spot at my apartment building about 1.5 seconds too late to unbuckle and exit before hurling. My poor car! (and steering wheel and clothes and door and me) Best $100 I spent ever was to get my car detailed, because I’ll tell you, no amount of civilian sweat and tears can un-throwup a car. But the professionals can! And those dudes have seen it all. “There was a vomiting incident…” I timidly peeped as I handed over the keys. The guy barely blinked and just asked me to point out the trajectory and coverage areas. My car came back to me totally odor-free and even more beautiful than the day I drove it off the lot, and that went a long way towards feeling less awful and weird about the whole event. You may ask: did anyone witness this? To this I say maybe, as the vomiting kept on keeping on after I had staggered out of the car — but then the space was magically whistle-clean the next day and not done by me. Thanks to whomever did the anonymous-neighbor equivalent of holding my hair.
Wow, I’m getting the whirls! I’m going to stop here and not even going into my fascination with infectious diseases.
I do have to say that my two public vomiting experiences as an adult have reduced the general anxiety that most people have around the idea of vomiting in public, but increased my anxiety about the (likely) likelihood of it happening again. But this is something I can prepare for — with planned exit routes, stashed plastic bags, and an earnest search for migraine medication that works for me.
Yep, a post about vomit, dedicated to Polly.
