Vomit Splattered Jammies

This offering comes from NHB, a true fan of The Churning.  The story starts off all sentimental and cute, but ends up just like all the others: covered in chunky vomit.

I was six years old and I awoke early one snowy Christmas morning in 1967. In eager anticipation, I padded down the hallway in my pajamas and bedroom slippers. As I pushed open the living room door and beheld the pretty twinkling lights on the tree and the packages piled up underneath, I upchucked in excitement, all over the my grandmother’s wooden floor.