A story.

Saturday night we're watching TV when Marcia turns to me and says she needs the puke bowl. It's upstairs in the kitchen; it needs to be cleaned. I bound up the stairs into the pitch dark. Sasha is laying at the top of the stairs. In my panic, I kick her. No time for remorse. Grope for the kitchen lightswitch. Grab the bowl off of the countertop. Highstep my way past the dog again. I come around the corner in the basement, starting to tell Marcia how I just kicked the dog. She has her hand over her mouth, cheeks bulged. I run over with the bowl and get there just in the nick of time. Hair, sweater, and blanket all get some splash.

Several minutes later, it is the funniest story in the world. Guess you just had to be there.