““Shouldn’t we help them?” my wife asked as she pulled her head back into the car, already looking better now that she’d emptied her stomach. I motioned that she had a little something on the side of her face. She lifted her hand to remove the offending detritus. “Uh, other side,” I explained. She missed again. I wiped my face again to show her where it was. “Forget the damn puke!” she yelled. “Shouldn’t we try to help?” “No,” I mumbled. “What? Speak up, I can’t hear your altruism,” she retorted acerbically.””
