When it comes to being sick, I’m a total boy. I whine. I’m dramatic. I need to be waited on hand and foot. It’s pretty terrible.
And for the past four days, I’ve been siiiiiiiiiick (if you know me in real life, be sure to mentally read that in the whiniest voice you can imagine passing through my vocal cords. And if you don’t know me in real life, well, lucky you – you were spared that imaginary noise). It feels as though I’m on the road to recovery. Unfortunately, the road appears to run right through my sinus.
No wonder poor K didn’t seem too upset about being hustled out of town on business for the night.
That means, of course, that I can slather on the Vicks without feeling guilty in the slightest. Well, I guess I still feel bad for the cats. But they’re small and the house is big, so they’ll find a Vicks-free zone, I’m sure. It also means I can channel hop between reruns of Full House, The Cosby Show, Happy Days, and “Sabrina” with Harrison Ford.
Of course it also means that I had to open my own bottle of Ginger Ale. Which was far more difficult than it should have been. I’ll blame it on the fact that my strength must be diminished. I’ve been living on broth, crackers, Gatorade, and applesauce for practically a week.
If you’re still reading this ridiculous mess of a post, you’re a real champ, my friend. Someday, I will hopefully be able to post something slightly more coherent and less…sickly.