The Mister and I are sick with the crud. We know it’s the crud because we watched Sassy go through the crud last week and we probably got her crud not from affectionating her, but by collecting her cruddy tissues. We felt she was unnecessarily babyish and dramatic during the crud and we did affectionate her magnificently.
It began Saturday night when we had guests. I kept sayin a lot of dust got stirred up, cause we had cleaned the windows and opened them, and we’re an allergic bunch. But on Sunday, I woke up bizarrely cold with a throat that felt as if I had swallowed glass and I got worse throughout the day, not better. When you’re cold to the bone and your head weighs three hundred pounds, it’s hard to deny the crud.
The Mister chose to hibernate in the bedroom.
He put my quilt and pillows in the dryer for awhile and then I made a warm and toasty sofa bed, where I cocooned in the warmth. Medusa hair, tissues threaded up my nose, much snore, many pretty.
I felt unnecessarily babyish and dramatic. I thought I may have caught a man cold, ffs.
When we went to bed Sunday night, I hoped a dose of NyQuil and a good night’s sleep would right me, whereas he was all, “If I feel like this tomorrow, I cannot go to work tomorrow.” For a brief moment, I doubted the power of the La Fee Verte de NyQuil, but I wanted to believe. I had all the hope of a woman tissue-walrus.
Monday at seven, I woke Sassy up and went back to sleep, not waking again til ten. I cleaned all the crusties off my face, blew my nose 20 or so times, pulled on my ears, cleared my throat and then went back to lying down, because my head must surely have weighed two hundred pounds.
Finally, I sat up and shot a text to my boss. I read it five times to be sure it made sense. I kinda wanted to say I could maybe make it, if I drove the secondary roads, in my gray pajamas, smellin like Vick’s, no talking on the phone…I could prolly still get some things done…
Benson said I needed chicken soup. I did. I did need chicken soup. We needed chicken soup.
I had been naggin Moo for eatin all the Campbell’s, cause when I’m sick, ain’t nobody makin me chicken soup.
Well I had a chicken carcass in the freezer and a fresh buncha thighs in the fridge, so I set out to make chicken soup.
(When I wasn’t working and I had a regular fridge, I was pretty good at keeping stock ingredients and even stock itself. Now, not so much. My freezer is stupid because side-by-sides are stupid and their stupid freezers are the stupidest parts. But thank you for still working, Stupid Side-By-Side Fridge.)
Once I had the chicken simmering with its garlic and onion and herbs, I said to The Mister, “I am making chicken soup. Now will you go out to get carrots and celery and noodles?”
He gave me the look.
“You mean physically go out to the store and purchase them?”
“Never mind, I’ll go.”
More the look.
“I’ll go. It’s fine.”
i don’t think i should drive and you don’t even have hair or hafta put on a bra and i am cookin the soup, but whatever, i will do everything, it’s fiiine
I was too sick to fight properly.
I mustered energy to put my coat and boots on my gray pajama-clad body and The Mister asked, “You’re goin out like that?!?”
oh see, i’m not always beautiful afterall, eh?
He said to sit down.
I stood there, needing noodles.
“Sit down. I’ll go. Just sit down.”
“Sit down. I said I’ll go.”
“I done asked you to go and you –”
“I said sit down, Woman! I’m the head of the household!”
“Oh you –”
“It says so in the bible!” he teased.
“I don’t take anything in the New Testament even remotely seriously.”
“It’s in the Old Testament.”
“No it’s not.”
“Yes it is!”
“No it’s not! It’s in Ephesians!”
When you are both so sick you can’t fight properly and your husband comes at you with a bible verse. JFC.
He took my scrawled list to the store and a bit later he text me.
“What kind of onions?”
that ain’t right. onions? i don’t need onions. i have a whole drawer of onions.
I called him. “The list should read carrots, celery, and noodles. I don’t know why I wrote onions. We don’t need onions.”
head full of snot, no room for brain
We FaceTimed for the cold meds. He was lookin for somethin blue or green or clear or pill; I’d bought DayQuil for Sassy, but I didn’t want to drink red dye because rashes.
Then he asked what kind of lozenges to get. In the background, a man sang out, “Riiicola!” and I said, on FaceTime, “I don’t care, I’ll suck on anything.”
Once he got home, I washed and chopped and added to the pot.
FOR THE LOVE OF DIPHENHYDRAMINE, EVEN THE MUCINEX PILLS HAVE RED DYE IN THEM!
The flowers he brought home have dyed stems, so the water turns pink!
Enough of the red dye, People! Enough!
We ate our soup, took our medicine, snored our snores, snotted our tissues, and we even survived Tuesday, when we got dressed and took our one-hundred pound heads to work and prolly got some stuff done. Since I’m so romantic, on the way home, I stopped at the drug store and bought The Mister tissues to take to work today.
Now my head only weighs about fifty pounds, so that’s nice.
It’s Wednesday, did you find any One-Liners?