I was planning on talking about my weekend- specifically our new-ish cabin in the woods and my eternal death match with all creatures of the blood-sucking kind*- but I got sick.
Or, as I like to say to my hubby, ssssiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiicccccccccccckkkkkk. With an emphasis on the whiney “iiiiii” sound. It’s just not the same word without a bit of whine and sad puppy dog eyes added in.
Usually when I’m sick, I can soldier through with a minimum of complaint- but when I have a bad bug- or horrors of horrors- the STOMACH FLU- I fully admit that I revert to being a HUGE baby.
Sick with a cold? No. You are not really sick. Buck up.
Sick with a sore throat? Take a couple of year-old antibiotics and buck up.**
“Sick” (and I use that term loosely) with a weird rash? First, ew. Second, rub some cream on it. Third, buck up.
But a fever with the added benefit of chills? The kind that requires burrowing into my husband like Luke in a Ton-ton to get warm? You would think I was dying.
And honestly- at 3:30am on Saturday night, when I was listing out the pros and cons of getting out of bed to go to the bathroom (Pro- I don’t have to pee anymore! Con- I’ll freeze to death before I reach the door!) the thought might have crossed my mind that I was dying of some mysterious avian-swine-moose flu variant I had stumbled upon, and therefore would always bear my name….
“Oh, you’re freezing, but have a fever and headache? You totally have the Cotterpin flu…You have 24 hours to live. Good luck.”
I’m fine now by the way. Maybe I ate some bad Tex-Mex.
*Seriously. WHAT THE HELL ARE THESE MOSQUITOS ON? They are freaking HUGE- and they somehow have amassed an ARMY that launch a full-0n assault the second I step outside. It’s not safe to leave the house anymore.
**Not that I would condone doing this…I’m just saying I know people who have… Ahem.