The time I painted my room with Frosted Flakes and bile

One random night in second grade, I was lying in my bed watching TV. I was on the tail end of the flu, and my dad was sitting on the couch in my room to make sure I was ok. I know it sounds like my second grade bedroom was all pimped out because I had a TV and a couch, but this was a hand-me-down black and white we got from a relative, and the couch was the one we had for ages before getting new furniture. I also know I don't have to justify my childhood socio-economic status with you. I just do these things anyway.

As the night wore on, the queasiness in my stomach gave way to hunger.

"Dad, I'm hungry. I want Frosted Flakes."

"No, too heavy."

"But dad, I want some!"

"Ok, ok."

My dad sure was the best.

Few things ever tasted as good as that bowl of Frosted Flakes, each heaping spoonful a mouthplosion of sugary, crunchy, just-enough-soggy corn goodness followed by a cold, creamy, sugary whole milk chaser. I polished off that bowl before the weatherman could finish his 3-day forecast (I also watched news as a youngster because I had to keep up on the Iranian Hostage Crisis. I know I don't have to justify my childhood media preferences with you. I just do these things anyway). With hunger pangs abated, I settled into the inevitable slumber that would follow. My body, however, wasn't intent on the world "settle." In fact, the opposite happened.

"Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't feel well..."

"I told y---"

Then this happened:

Dramatic re-creation from actual eventsI learned a few things that day:

1) If you put your hand to your mouth to block puke, the puke always wins.

2) When you decrease the space from which liquid is expelled with something like a hand, you increase its exit pressure, and therefore its velocity and trajectory. This works to your advantage with garden hoses. This works to your disadvantage when you are trying not to paint your bedroom walls with vomit.

3) When you've reached the point of no return, don't move your head from side to side in a desperate attempt to find something to puke in. It only results in more wall, furniture, bookshelf, desk and old black and white television set coverage.

4) My dad was the nicest dad ever. He just got up, got a roll of paper towels, and cleaned up my Frosted Flake room motif. And we never spoke of it again.

5) Listen to your dad.

As a member of the Vicks Blogger Brigade, my job is to entertain and enlighten you with my personal stories related to being sick (and getting better), and conceptually tie them in with the awesomeness of Vicks. I really hope Vicks appreciates that I have now forever tied Frosted Flake puke with NyQuil in your mind. Turns out, the awesomeness is me.

To make up for it, I will try to give you something back. How about a Vicks Cool Moisture Humidifier and a "Feel Better Kit" that includes VapoRub, DayQuil, NyQuil, and a mess of Vicks Nature Fusion products? I'll even make it easy for you. Just go to the Vicks Facebook page and answer the question that's on their wall:

"Fill in the blank: I know I’m getting better when I can finally smell ______."

Then come back here and let me know you did it. Just don't write "Frosted Flakes puke" as your answer. Well, you can if you want. That might be kind of amusing. Either way, I'll pick a winner on March 16 at 5pm PST.

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