Things That Go "Uuhhluump" in the Night

Everybody has sounds that they just can't bear to hear.

For some, it's certain musical instruments (out-of-tune or otherwise), for others it's babies crying or nails on a chalkboard. For some, it's Andrew Lloyd Webber.

Whatever the annoying, grating sound is for you, it has the unique ability to inspire revulsion, irritation, and an unceasing desire to swallow thumbtacks. These sounds may not have any effect on anyone else, but, to you, they mean something definite and unpleasant.

For me, the sound is "Uuhluump, uuhluump, uuhluump, uuhluump, uuhluump."

That's the sound of my dog gearing up for a good vom.

This sound is particularly dreadful because it is a warning that usually comes too late-- there almost never enough time to do anything about it. Now, I don't want to make this all about me, because, obviously, if Finley is making this noise, he's undoubtedly undergoing turmoil far worse than my own, but the effect that this noise has on me is probably at least half as bad as what he's going through.

Mrs. Apron and I were curled up in bed in one of our carefully-orchestrated cuddling positions when I heard it.

"Uuhluump, uuhluump, uuhluump, uuhluump, uuhluump."

At first, you trick yourself into thinking that it's a dream. And then you think,

"But, wait a minute, why would I be dreaming about Finley vomiting when I was just dreaming failing a math test in fourth grade?"

Of course, you're halfway into this thought when you hear, "Aaarghfflpth!" which is the unmistakable finale to our dog's little intestinal sonata.

Time-check: 6:06am.

"Jesusfrugginchrisss," I mutter as I throw the covers off to get rid of the vomit the appropriate way before he gets rid of it in the inappropriate way. At least he had the decency to jump off our bed and throw up on the floor.

As I stumble around in my pajamas and bare feet in the dark I, the eternal optimist say,

"Fuggg-- I know I'm gonna stepinit...."

Dutifully, Mrs. Apron switches on her lamp and, squinty-eyed and hair all fucked up she peers around.

"Pile by the door," she announces before crashing, face-first into her pillow.

"Mmm," I acknowledge.

I wad up a handful of toilet paper, scoop up the warm, lumpy offering and toss it in the toilet, ridding the outside world of it with a flush. I hope I washed my hands, but I don't remember. I do remember getting back into bed and the alarm going off seven minutes later.

So much for pathos.

Of course, I'm not asking you to feel particularly bad for me-- no need to sound those violins-- after all, my boss was at home cleaning the projectile vomitus of both her husband and her grandson all afternoon so, really, who am I to complain? I'm just a guy talking about his dog, and the things that go uuhhluump in the night.

What are some sounds that turn your guts to stone?