How do you stand out in a crowd?
Currently I'm the sniffly, snorkly, raspy, hacky, kinda need to wipe my nose on my sleeve 'cuz I used the last of my Kleenex on my kids and there's no way I'm using that fast food napkin at the bottom of my purse stand-out-of-the-crowd kinda gal.
"I'm a little plague pack, short and stout,
Hear me sneeze and kick me out."
Saturday, we had a birthday party for my younger daughter. Everyone was the perfect picture of health; children full of rompitude and shrieking cacophony, adults fat with cake and contentedness.
Two days later, I came home from work, looked at the three-year old (now oozing nasal secretions and enough eye baggage to get to Australia), and I realized that it was time to get the humidifiers all scrubby-dubbied up for overtime and buy enough Kleenex to play Christo. (Not that I'll have the energy soon to gussy up the countryside with 4-inch square "now with a touch of cotton" banners any time soon.)
As the pall of sickness spread over my family; the toddler got snottier, the younger child got whinier, the husband and I became increasingly lethargic and unpleasant towards each other, I was fully prepared to blame impeding ickiness upon a random attendee from Saturday.
(Nevermind the kids. My husband and I are arguing about which of the adults gets to take a nap.)
Then I went to work on Tuesday, and discovered that some lovely co-worker (and if we ever figure out who, we're stealing their lunches for the next year) had spread viral wildfire throughout the facility. Lysol and Durex need to buddy up and design some sort of phone and keyboard condom that dispatchers can use.
(My eyelashes itch.)
I'd sell a bottle of Zyrtec to have a normal cold. Instead, it's one of those colds where five minutes after toweling off from the bath, you already feel like you haven't showered in three days and you've got a dermal coating of EEEEWWWW. The sort of cold where sterilizing your house should consist of a neutron bomb and the posting of a metal sign stating "No human occupation of this territory for 50 years". I've actually looked at the nasal aspirator and thought, "Y'know, I'm kinda tempted to try that. On myself."
(I wouldn't mind sticking a chopstick down my throat and giving my lungs a good scratching.)
It's the kind of cold that makes you really freakin' glad that you don't own a guinea pig, because you'd be having a really sad conversation with your three-year old about why things die.
I stand out in the crowd, all right.
I'm the one laid out flat.
Comments:
I know that story exactly! It does end... it took me forever, (at least it felt like forever) but it'll pass. :-)
Oh, dear, Bren! It's been almost a week now---it'll be over soon! Then, the family will be back to Christo-fying the living room with gusto.
Have you been using a neti pot? You'd feel so much better. Still not human, but better. That's progress, right?
I loved this. Sorry :)
In all seriousness though I am hoping that you are feeling better- fast.
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OMG I'm so sorry your sick but damn what a laugh i just had, thank you
- GothicMama
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