It's Wednesday morning now, and though I'm feeling a little bit so ravaged, I'm clearly on the upswing. Wasn't it just Monday morning, just two days ago, when I felt that little ahem-tickle in my throat? "Wait, am I getting a cold?" I asked myself. And then it happened -- that "Sixth Sense" moment when I realized I was already dead.
By Monday afternoon, my throat was a sexual, free-for-all fire-pit for the lusty virus reproducing in my cells. Knowing that this was a real sin, my immune system released hordes of mucus nuns to fight the evil virus by entrapping it, and then making everyone involved feel dirty.
My usual cold remedies: Airborne, Motrin, Tootsie Pops and Hot Toddies* were ineffectual, so that night I sent my husband on a guest room sleep-away from my germs. Then I lay awake in our bed with unearthly pressure in my head. At one low point, I wanted to wake him and cry about my misery. But that would have been ridiculous overkill, like the people who phoned 911 when they got lost in a corn maze.
Yesterday, Tuesday, was a blur. Did the Terminix Man come while I was watching Bob's Burgers? That may or may not have happened. All I know is that at about 7 pm, Bo came home with Werthers Original candy, Cepacol extra strength cough drops and Mucinex (both day and nighttime formulas). He had been asking around about cold remedies at work and put this combination together to surprise me. It worked and I slept through the night.
Right now I'm feeling good and I'm hoping that Gus stopped here. If not, I hope that no one can trace his awfulness back to me, as cold tracing is something that we're all wont to do.
The Team
Some Tea
Some Agave Nectar
Some Lemon Juice
Some Goslings Dark Rum
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