One time when Mr. Snooty and I were first going out together, we were invited to a married couple friends' home for a Shrimp Boil. It was really the first time I'd been to one that was New Orleans Style. They had butcher paper spread out over the tables outside, with large rolls of paper towels strategically placed all about. There were also sleeves of saltine crackers scattered about.
Best of all, there were Stuffed Artichokes at every other place setting and they were absolutely divine. When the Shrimp Boil was ready, our host and hostess turned out several pots of shrimp, red potatoes, sausages, and corn-on-the-cobs, onto the tables. It was a massive feast and we all ate like we'd never before had such a meal.
About halfway through the meal, Mr. Snooty started feeling badly and leaned over to mention it to me. I said something like "Oh, just don't eat any more. You've overfilled yourself". The look on his face said otherwise.
I mumbled our thank-you to everyone and hustled him to the car just in time for him to *blow beets* everywhere. Fine. I finally got him into the car and began driving him back to his apartment. He threw up two more times, all over the white leather interior and the passenger side door of his Grand Prix. I felt really awful for him, but was at a loss as to what I could do to help. I also knew there was no way I was going to get through the ordeal without some of the vomit getting on me. It's one of my biggest *gag factors*. I even hated getting it on me when it was my own children.
We reached his apartment and he managed to throw up again before I could get him up the stairs and inside. Once I got him through the door, he threw up several more times in the bathroom. I began to get scared. I'd never seen anyone throw up so much in my life. I finally decided to call his parents but it was approaching 2:00 AM.
The phone rang several times before his Dad answered. I could tell he was groggy with sleep and wasn't at all happy about being awakened in the middle of the night. I tried to explain to him that his son was violently ill and throwing up constantly. He said "Well, you're with him, so you deal with it. He's probably just drunk". Then he hung up. He. Hung. Up.
I was horrified and I didn't know what to do. I was only 24 years old and I'd never seen anyone throw up that many times, considering the amount he had eaten. He kept telling me to take his car home and come back tomorrow, but I was afraid he was going to die. Not that I had a clue as to how I should help him. Seriously. No Google searches back in those days. So, I waited out the night and in the morning when he woke up his first words to me were "I thought I told you to take my car home and come back."
Incredulous, I informed him that I stayed with him because I was afraid he might die. Some thanks. Oddly enough, he has always been like that every time he's gotten sick over the years. He just wants to be left alone. Not me. I want sympathy and wait service...
The man is sooo lucky I still married him.
I guess the moral to the story is this: When you're eating any kind of fish, but especially shrimp, pay attention to what you're eating. If it smells funny or even looks odd, toss it. It's simply not worth throwing up for hours on end.
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