Uh-Oh Spaghettios

Last week John left town for a conference, so I decided to let the kids choose what they wanted for dinner. All of them had been asking to try Spaghettios, since seeing their friend eating the vile stuff for lunch one day. “I think they’re gross”, I warned them. But they were soooo attracted to the little O on the red and white can, making the slurpy face with his tongue, that the Spaghettios just had to be had. The girls wanted the Princess and Dora shaped Spaghettios, of course, and the boys wanted theirs with meatballs. Since I had all four kids in the store with me at the time, I was anxious to get out, so I threw four cans of Spaghettios in the cart and hurried along.

The kids asked me several times when they could have those Spaghettios. “Not til tomorrow”, I said. They couldn’t wait and begged me each time I prepared a meal. Finally, their Spaghettio trial began for lunch one day. Just as I had predicted, three of the four kids didn’t like the Spaghettios. But Joe couldn’t get enough of them. He ate a whole bowl and had seconds. ‘Good’, I thought, ‘he can finish everyone else’s unfinished cans.' I piled the leftover Spaghettios into a tuperware and saved them for Joe.

About an hour later I found Joe laying down on his bed- very unusual for my active boy. I asked him what was wrong and he complained of a tummy ache. ‘Uh-oh’, I thought. ‘It’s the Spaghettios.’ Thinking his lunch didn’t settle, I gave him some Tums, completely unaware that he had the beginnings of the stomach flu. Eventually Joe’s belly-ache turned into vomiting. I was grateful to learn that he had made it to the bathroom, until he came out and announced, “I missed.” He sure did. I cleaned undigested Spaghettios off the toilet seat, bathtub, floor, and walls. It was all I could do to keep from vomiting myself. I think the stuff smells like vomit as soon as the can is opened, let alone after it sat an hour or so inside a stomach!

Poor Joe made several trips to the bathroom that evening, each time a few more O's- big ones, small ones, and an occasional partial meatball, coming up. After his bout with the bug, he made it very clear that he would never eat Spaghettios again. So much for the gigantic container of left over Spaghettios waiting for him in the fridge. Down, down, down the drain they went. And I shall never buy Spaghettios again. If my grandchildren ever ask me for them, I will tell them to go ask their mother instead. Better yet, I’ll tell them to ask their Uncle Joe (or their dad if it's Joe's kids)about his Spaghettio mishap.