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I am standing in front of a microwave watching the popcorn bag slowly fill with air and lose its flaccid shape. Then I remember to shield my crotch from the radiation with an oven mitt.

I am thinking about how last week I vomited into the kitchen sink. It had been completely unexpected.

"Why did you vomit in the sink," my wife said.
"That's the closest thing I could get to."
"There's a bathroom down the hall, why did you vomit in the sink."

I kept repeating what she said. I didn't have a good answer for her. That night I dreamt I was eating pennies. I ate so many I knew I was going to puke. I kept looking around for a toilet but I was standing in line for a rollercoaster. I hunched over and quietly puked into my hands. I saw my wife coming toward me. She had been getting funnel cakes. I let most of the puke run out of my cupped hands onto the concrete. It looked like strawberry cupcake frosting.

"I got the funnel cakes, they were nine dollars," she said.

I put my hands behind my back.

"What've you got in your hands."
"Nothing. I think I got carpal tunnel from your dad."
"What. Let me see."
"No I was just kidding."

I put my hands in my pocket. The puke was still warm. It felt like oatmeal. My wife bit into her funnel cake. The funnel cake started meowing. It must have been a kitten the whole time. When I woke up my wife was staring at me.

"You kept saying masturbate a kitten. Did you go on the internet again."

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