Dad: S. do you have a headache?
[I was sprawled out in shotgun with a grimace on my face.]
Me: Noooo....I'm just queasy. I want to ralph again.
Mom: That's ok, even if you do, you have nothing left in your stomach.
[The night before was spent kneeling on ice cold tile floors retching into Mr. Toilet $20 worth of the best sushi you can get on this continent.]
There you go pragmatic words of comfort.
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