Fiddlesticks. I thought I narrowly escaped the rabid flu going around. I didn’t. The fuckery. I’ve been hacking all over everything -and every time I do-my son sprays me with Lysol. Literally. And so I sing: Started with a cough now we here. Started with a cough now the whole flu f***in here. Yes, Drake, it’s gotta start somewhere. My sinuses are screaming. My eyes are begging for a random spider monkey to jump in and claw at them. And my jaw is so achy that I could probably set off a metal detector. Wait. What?
|#sickpics #livinglife #ihatetheflu|
So… Thank you, my love for bringing me some tomato soup. My favorite. No, it really is… No sarcasm at all. My favorite of all time. Seriously, I love this stuff. And, for some reason, tastes like marinara sauce. Ugh. Mumbling to myself -It’s the thought that counts-because I am a grateful woman. Ok fine, most of the time. But seriously, Why bring me the fancy stuff? Duh. Food snob alert. Campbell’s would’ve been just fine. Um… No, it wouldn’t. Oh, this one has a subtle pepper kick. Kaplowie! Ah. That explains the taste… that IS bland. No kaplowie. I add hot sauce. Kaplowie! Now, I know what you’re thinking, it’s a special recipe and it’s better than the canned versions at the supermarket so shut it. Bah. I’m a creature of habit dammit. As predictable as the Price Is Right wheel. And I wouldn’t have been happy either way really. I’m down with the flu. How can I juggle bowling pins when I’m stuck under the covers? No, I can’t juggle. But, what if I wanted to learn? What if today, is the day, that I take on the task of juggling cats, tennis balls, or fruit? What if? Huh? Huh? Right. Well, I can’t because I’m a couch beast right now, reveling in the cushy goodness of my runny, snotty nose. Wiseguys.