I used to boast that I never got sick, and it used to be true. I never, ever got sick. Joel would come down with a cold or two every year and I'd try to be sympathetic, but really I just didn't get it. How did people get themselves sick all the time? I figured I must have a killer immune system. Probably why I've never had a cavity or broken a bone, right? I have my fair share of ailments, I just didn't get sick.
That immune system, it seems, has retired to a sunny beach in Key West. For the past two or three winters I've been getting colds and stomach bugs and you know what, I don't like it. At all.
For example, take last week: for the first time in my life, I went home from work sick. I've called in sick before. Once, I started to walk to work, almost got hit by a truck crossing the street, and turned around and went back to bed. But I've never gotten to work, survived a few hours in the office and then had to throw in the towel. I made a bargain with myself: If I went from feeling like I might throw up to actually doing it, then I could go home. Otherwise, I'd stick it out.
An hour later, I was home. I spent the rest of the afternoon on the couch, feeling utterly miserable. Normally an afternoon to myself at home would be glorious; I'd either have a list of things I could accomplish (laundry! organizing!) or I'd revel in some Law and Order reruns and thoroughly enjoy being lazy. But when I'm sick, all I can manage to do is roil in my illness, and even that is no fun. What a miserable waste of time. I vote we do away with it altogether.
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I was doing the dishes before going to bed the other night when I smelled the unmistakable odor of something on fire. Not the smell of something getting too hot or being overcooked, the smell of FIRE. Amusingly enough, my very first reaction was to look in the sink. Then looked to the stove to see if I'd somehow dropped a dish towel or other flammable object into the open flame, but all the burners were off so I whipped around, sure that one of the cats had pushed a grocery list or scrap of paper into the candle we had burning on the counter behind me, but... no. There was the candle, burning away, seemingly with nothing wrong. Except it smelled like FIRE.
Then I noticed Madison sauntering away with a billow of smoke rising from his tail. He often knocks things over with his tail and is generally a clumsy, uncoordinated oaf, but this is a new one. He set his tail on fire. And even better, I don't think he noticed. At least he pretended quite convincingly that he had no idea why I was holding him by the scruff of the neck while Joel wiped him down with a wet towel.
Never fear, he seems to be fine. In fact, thanks to his fluffy fox tail, once we wiped away all the singed fur and cinders, the chunk of missing tail was hardly noticeable. The burnt hair smell took a while to clear the kitchen, but I guess vacuuming will be a little lighter this week.
I hear ya. Being sick is SERIOUSLY lame.
But burning cat tails, now that's something I could get behind.
Posted by: Ashley, the Accidental Olympian | Thursday, February 25, 2010 at 05:16 PM
You looked in the sink first? What activities do you do in your sink to warrant that knee-jerk reaction?
Posted by: beth | Thursday, February 25, 2010 at 10:39 PM
and sorry you're sick. I'll send some chocolate.
Posted by: beth | Thursday, February 25, 2010 at 10:40 PM
Joel is always telling me that I get the water too hot when I do dishes. I wear gloves because I hate touching the kitchen sponge with my bare hands (a totally separate issue), so the scalding water doesn't bother me. I think it gets the dishes cleaner, and faster. But it burns him if he needs to stick his hand in for something, which happens more often than you'd think, because we've had this water temperature discussion many times.
Anyway, the first thought that came to my mind was "he's right! I burned something with the too-hot water!"
Posted by: Pink Herring | Thursday, February 25, 2010 at 11:22 PM
I know I shouldn't laugh at your poor cat, but I love that he didn't notice he was on fire. That's comedy gold. And I'm glad he's okay too. =)
Posted by: erin | Friday, February 26, 2010 at 09:58 AM
I hate being home sick because all I can think of is how much I could get getting done. You know, if I could stand up without being so dizzy that I fall over. MINOR SETBACK.
Posted by: RA | Friday, February 26, 2010 at 01:36 PM
your cat was afire? Sorry you're sick. Maybe you need a humidifier. Knocking on wood, we're the only family I know that hasn't been sick this winter, and we religiously sleep with humidifiers on. YOU do the math. Or you don't have to do the math. I just like math. And that phrase.
Posted by: HollowSquirrel | Friday, February 26, 2010 at 08:58 PM
Being sick is terrible! I used to be super-immune-system girl as well, but that's faded the closer I get to 30.
Oh my gosh your poor cat! So glad he's okay. But also laughing at the thought of him sauntering around with his tail smoking.
Posted by: Life of a Doctor's Wife | Monday, March 01, 2010 at 10:43 AM