A Letter To Vomit

Dear Puke,
I know you may be surprised at hearing from me in this capacity. You are generally kind to our family. Rarely do we experience your services. I sailed through three pregnancies with nary a dry heave thrown my way. For your habitual avoidance of our home, I thank you.
However, last night, uninvited, you crept into the life of my daughter. At the risk of sounding unkind, may I point out a few things:
1. You smell wretched. Your smell permeates everything with which it comes in contact... hair, pillows, pajamas, blankets, stuffed animals, carpet... and you have a way of coming in contact with all of it.
2. Due to point number one, I am forced to deviate from my usually eco-friendly lifestyle, and use gallons and gallons of precious water to bathe those bodies and linens which you soil. This causes me pangs of guilt.
3. You rob me of precious sleep. I lay in my bed, with one ear open, all through the night, ready to spring into action at the slightest sound of a gag. I wake in the morning, tired and cranky, making me more susceptible to your intrusion of my own body.
4. You mess with my schedule. We type-A's need our schedules. I have already cancelled three appointments for today. This is very inconsiderate of you.
5. No offense, but you are really ugly.

While I realize that I should be thanking you for how little you rear your ugly head in our home, that sort of makes me feel like the owner of a small corner store, thanking a mafioso for providing him with "protection" at such a reasonable price.
No, you are not welcome in our home. I would like you gone no later than this afternoon. Go do something productive with yourself, like feed baby birds. Just leave my sweet baby alone.