“But Dad,” whined Kristi, “I KNOW that I can drink the large malt!”  Standing outside the window of the small town Dairy Queen, in front of many happy family vacationers, my younger sister had stubbornly decided to wage war against Dad.  She glared at him through the mottled pink and purple rims of her glasses.  Her nose wrinkled with determination, hands resting on her bony hips, legs locked in that I’m not budging on this one stance.  As usual, Kristi had to have her drink in the biggest size available to man, the “two hander,” the “mother malt!”  And, as always, the beanpole promised she would drink every ounce.  “You wait, I’ll show you!” she threatened.
“If you order it, you WILL drink it!” hissed my father trying hard not to attract attention.  “I’m tired of you always ordering food that you can’t finish!  We could feed all the starving children in Africa with your leftovers!”  He was on a roll, so he decided to throw in one more of his corny, overly used lines, “Do you think we are made out of money?” he growled. 
Mom stood next to my father in dead silence, pretending to be interested in the “cool” rock my younger brother was enthusiastically showing her.  She had been married to my dad for over ten years and was smart enough to realize that once he got started on one of his ramblings, you just had to let him go…kind of like one of those baby dolls that once you pull the string, won’t shut up until she’s finished her entire spiel!
Finally back in the car, we trudged on, towards our final destination…The Snowy Mountain Range of Wyoming.  Realizing we had many boring hours ahead of us, in the car, we all sat in silence, savoring every sip of our delicious treats.  In fact, we were so enamored with our drinks, that we momentarily forgot the cramped, jumbled quarters of the old silver Datsun station wagon.  Suitcases were piled uncomfortably behind our heads, shoes and coats were stuffed in every available space and maps were shoved haphazardly between the window and the dashboard. 
My mom had strategically placed a snack cooler between Kristi and me, to mark boundaries and block hands and feet from accidentally wandering into enemy territory.  My younger brother, Jeff, had the nastiest seat of all- a two foot by two foot area in the very back of the car!  The space, engineered by my dad, had been prepared by arranging the four suitcases in the shape of a square and Jeff had the privilege of sitting in the middle of it.  Or course, he thought it was “cool” kind of like being in a cage!
At our feet, sat our father’s pride and joy, his most prized possession… his fishing pole!  We called Dad’s fishing pole his “fourth child” and we knew one thing for sure, it definitely had a better seat in the wagon than his other three children!  
Prior to our departure, Dad had devoted hours to the polishing of his “favorite son” and did it ever sparkle!  The brand new line was ready to be cast, for the first time, into the crystal clear waters of a Wyoming lake.  While in the car, we were always careful not to accidentally touch the pole with our shoes, and none of us ever got out of the car until the pole had been removed first by my father’s adoring hands.
I was just slurping the last of my malt, though my straw, when a whimpery voice, next to me, announced that she was full and just couldn’t drink anymore.
“You ordered it, you drink it!” demanded my father from the driver’s seat.  I looked up to see two, angry brown eyes glaring back at us from the rearview mirror.
“But I, I, I…. think I’m going to be s-s-sick.”  When I looked over at Kristi, I realized she wasn’t joking.  Her eyes were red and watery, and her healthy summer complexion had taken on a greenish appearance.  She was holding the wax covered cup between her legs so that her hands were free to cradle her ailing stomach.
“You drink it!” commanded my father.
“Ok,” she moaned, “but if I get sick, it’s your fault.
It wasn’t a minute later that our trip took a drastic turn for the worst.  Kristi had successfully managed to squeeze the last of her malt into her already full, overly stretched abdomen, but I could tell it wasn’t going to stay there for long!  Suddenly, gurgling, sloshing sounds began to echo from the inside of her belly, strange sounds that grew louder and louder.  Her eyes were reduced to slits and she was sweating as if she had just come from sitting in a steamy hotel sauna.  She was bent over at the waist, clutching her stomach. When I saw the rocking, convulsing motion her tummy began making, I knew what was going to happen next.
“She’s going to ralph! “  I yelled excitedly.  “She’s going to ralph right here in the car, she’s going to ralph right on Dad’s… FISHING POLE!”
“ALRIGHT!” my brother shouted from his cage in the back seat.  “I wanna see, I wanna see!” he said, poking his head up over the top of the suitcase like a gopher in a hole.
“Quick!” screamed my father, “Give her this!”  He shoved his empty malt cup at me with one hand, while continuing to grip the steering wheel with the other.  “Hurry!” he demanded, “Before she…”
But it was too late!