I'm not entirely fond of strawberry milkshakes to start with, and this makes me avoid them entirely.
Year: 2001. Setting: The Bachelor Apartment from Hell. Characters:
Me. Not quite 21 years old yet. College student. Engaged.
My Fiance, hereafter known as BJ. Not quite 21 yet either. Not a college student.
The Elder Bachelor: 30-something, friend of BJ's. Wise in the ways of booze.
Dances With Underwear: 20-ish, another roommate of ours.
The Elder Bachelor declared that it was going to be a night of drinking. I was cool with that, and so were the other guys. The Elder Bachelor advised me to eat something first, so the booze would not hit me as hard. I did so. BJ had already consumed 2 or 3 McDonald's triple cheeseburgers, as well as fries and a strawberry milkshake. I don't recall what Dances With Underwear had or hadn't eaten.
I stopped at two screwdrivers, as I figured that was about my limit, and I had no desire to feel even more woobly than that. BJ and Dances With Underwear kept drinking. I was amused.
Dances With Underwear sat down on the couch and abruptly (but delicately) vomited the screwdriver he'd just had back into the glass, not spilling a drop. I fetched the trash can, for which he was most grateful.
BJ went outside to get a little fresh air, and vomited on the doormat, in favor of vomiting over the railing and past our downstairs neighbors' window. He came back inside, feeling no pain whatsoever, and proudly showed off the split down the back side of his pants -- the pants had been a little too tight, and they'd split when he abruptly bent over to hurl.
I got a photo of the split pants.
He went in the bathroom to clean up, and I thought that was the end of it.
BJ went into the bedroom to lie down, and that's when it happened. He hosed down the bedroom, and much of the clean laundry, with all the milkshake, fries, and cheeseburgery contents of his unfortunate little stomach. "You're cleaning this the fuck up," I told him.
So he did, pausing every once in a while in his efforts to barf again.
I took the couch, and went to school early the next morning.
I avoid strawberry milkshakes now. I think the incident is funnier than anything. I wish I had a copy of that photo of his blown pants to share with everyone.