"Mom, I'm sick."
"Are you sure it's not allergies?"
"My throat hurts."
"Mine gets scratchy in the morning."
"Feel my head."
"I'm sorry, honey, but you feel normal."
"But my body hurts."
"Is this because you have to go to school?"
"No! I feel sick!"
"Okay--take some ibuprofen and try to get some sleep."
The Next Day:
"Do I need to go get them?"
"No, they were sick. I let them sleep."
"Okay--well, if they passed YOUR sick test, they MUST be sick."
"Don't look at me! I just didn't want to yell!"
"Sure, Mate. Fine. Whatever. They're not sick. It's fine."
... Can you all guess what's coming? I bet you can.
We were not sure Squish was sick or not--I admit to some skepticism on my part, but if Mate gave in, he must have felt something was wrong, so, well, yeah. We let them stay home.
And last night, I felt sort of icky.
This morning, I did not even bother to get dressed. I put on a bra--because underboob sweat is the worst when you feel like crap--but yeah. Pajamas and slouchy clothes and lots and lots of knitting, and feeling punky and like I could sleep all day and I didn't even care.
Squish really was sick. And then brought it home to me. And I have been masquerading as furniture all day, the ruse made even more effective by my fashionable fabric printed paisley pajama bottoms.
And when I got to sleep, I can vouch for no contributions to the world on this day other than converting oxygen to C02.
Somewhere out there, a plant is really super happy my meat sack was still functioning today. Otherwise, Mate is a little miffed that on a day none of us were moving, the cupboard was full of his favorite cookies, purchased yesterday when I dragged my sorry carcass to the grocery story on the pretense it was an ordinary weekend and I needed to get my chores done.
Today, I barely cooked dinner. And the cupboard WAS full of cookies--notice how WAS--past tense--is the operative word there?
Tomorrow I hope for more movement--the dogs really did miss their walk, although they certainly enjoyed all their time camping out on the obliging furniture.
The furniture was just fine with that. It was the only function it could manage.
"Are you sure it's not allergies?"
"My throat hurts."
"Mine gets scratchy in the morning."
"Feel my head."
"I'm sorry, honey, but you feel normal."
"But my body hurts."
"Is this because you have to go to school?"
"No! I feel sick!"
"Okay--take some ibuprofen and try to get some sleep."
The Next Day:
"Do I need to go get them?"
"No, they were sick. I let them sleep."
"Okay--well, if they passed YOUR sick test, they MUST be sick."
"Don't look at me! I just didn't want to yell!"
"Sure, Mate. Fine. Whatever. They're not sick. It's fine."
... Can you all guess what's coming? I bet you can.
We were not sure Squish was sick or not--I admit to some skepticism on my part, but if Mate gave in, he must have felt something was wrong, so, well, yeah. We let them stay home.
And last night, I felt sort of icky.
This morning, I did not even bother to get dressed. I put on a bra--because underboob sweat is the worst when you feel like crap--but yeah. Pajamas and slouchy clothes and lots and lots of knitting, and feeling punky and like I could sleep all day and I didn't even care.
Squish really was sick. And then brought it home to me. And I have been masquerading as furniture all day, the ruse made even more effective by my fashionable fabric printed paisley pajama bottoms.
And when I got to sleep, I can vouch for no contributions to the world on this day other than converting oxygen to C02.
Somewhere out there, a plant is really super happy my meat sack was still functioning today. Otherwise, Mate is a little miffed that on a day none of us were moving, the cupboard was full of his favorite cookies, purchased yesterday when I dragged my sorry carcass to the grocery story on the pretense it was an ordinary weekend and I needed to get my chores done.
Today, I barely cooked dinner. And the cupboard WAS full of cookies--notice how WAS--past tense--is the operative word there?
Tomorrow I hope for more movement--the dogs really did miss their walk, although they certainly enjoyed all their time camping out on the obliging furniture.
The furniture was just fine with that. It was the only function it could manage.
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