I’m taking a minute to tell you about my newest kids’ book. It’s the third in my  Uh-oh, Cleo series, and it’s called, I Barfed On Mrs. Kenly.

I actually did barf on Mrs. Kenly, by the way; you might call this little book memoir-ish.

See, one Sunday morning in my childhood, I ate way too many pancakes, and then went to a birthday party, which involved riding downtown in a van stuffed with children and an unlucky lady named Mrs. Kenly.

Mrs. Kenly sat next to me, all squished in. She was wearing a beautiful mink coat, which at the time was not politically incorrect.

On the other side of me was Donna, who was chewing watermelon bubble gum, the fumes from which turned my stomach in the close quarters. Also, the temperature in the van must’ve been ninety, with all windows shut to keep out the Chicago chill, and Mr. Kling, the driver and dad of the birthday girl, was smoking a cigar.

So I was surrounded by barf-inducing elements.

Still, it took me by surprise when I violently threw up all over Mrs. Kenly’s lovely coat. (She was surprised too, of course, with a few other emotions mixed in.)  The humiliation was awful, made worse by the fact that Mrs. Kenly was a terribly nice person. If I’d barfed on, say, Mrs. Landon, who once laughed at me because I had toilet paper stuck to my shoe, I wouldn’t have minded so much

If you know any 7 or 8 year-olds who might be amused by this story, check out I Barfed On Mrs. Kenly. I mean, literally check it out, at the library, or just, you know, check it out out here.