My parents may remember things differently, but I don’t think I would have been classified as a “difficult” child growing up. I never had a cavity, never broke a bone. When I was bored, I probably whined about it, but then I’d go occupy myself by rearranging my Crayolas in rainbow order or lining up my stuffed animals according to size or taxonomy or something totally normal like that. I even remember an older kid describing me to his mother as “well trained” one time. In short, I’ve always been this much of a bad ass.
But then I’d get sick.
I’d get strep again or I’d get another ear infection, and then would come the dreaded bottle of medicine. I’m sure I had my not-so-charming moments on normal days, but crack a new bottle of any liquid remedy and you might as well go ahead and call the exorcist. One whiff of that syrupy, antiseptic, vomitocious sludge and I would launch into an episode of histrionics so terrifying that my poor, horrified parents could do nothing but pour the hateful stuff down my throat and run for their lives. I vividly remember standing in the hallway of our house when I was five-years-old, wailing and tearing at my clothes at the prospect of having to swallow a dose of Dimetapp. “Great Grape Taste” my ass. My mother, bless her heart, somehow snuck it down my gullet, and I freaked out to such extremes that I yakked that medicine up all over the floor. Needless to say, for the benefit of all mankind, I learned to take pills very soon after this episode.
With the exception of a few doses of barely palatable Pepto-Bismol, I don’t think I’ve taken liquid medicine in 23 years. You can imagine my horror, then, when Kurt went in the bathroom to take some NyQuil the other day and came out smelling of cherry-flavored hell. I didn’t even consider he’d be taking LIQUID NyQuil, especially when they make those lovely, tasteless (giant) gel caps that glisten like jewels of healthiness in your hand. With that one whiff, I was flooded with memories of epic hissy fits, Triaminic-laced strawberry jelly (what am I, a puppy who won’t take her heartworm pills?), and that feeling you get when you eat something so disgusting your head starts shaking involuntarily. Apparently 23 years is not long enough to heal these wounds.
The good news: There were only two doses of cherry NyQuil left! And I didn’t hurl on him after either one!
The bad news: We replaced it with Walmart brand liquid nighttime cold-and-flu relief, which is flavored like…licorice.
I may die.