28 years, nearly down the toilet.
The last time I threw up, it was 1979, on a family sailing holiday in the Whitsundays (I would like to apologise again to my mother, and thank her for washing my sleeping-bag).
I've always been proud of my cast-iron stomach. It's taken me through university happy hours, my 30th birthday party and morning sickness without so much as a stray piece of carrot on my lower lip. But last night I came about as close as I could to breaking the vommy drought.
There's a nasty tummy bug floating around Sydney at the moment. Both my brothers-in-laws' families have had it, as well as one mother and bub in mothers' group. Now I'm pretty sure I've passed it on to my sister. I'm currently enjoying some Vegemite toast for dinner, so I reckon I'm on the mend.