The Plague
The last five days, I have been gamely attempting to fight off a ferocious head-cold/pukey-feeling/illness from Hell, mostly by cowering under a blanket and only emerging to grouse about the lack of OJ in the house or feebly reach for the tissue box. (I did make occasional soirees into the land of the living, only to deeply regret them within hours, hence the resignation to my fate on the couch).
However, I will NEVAH SURRENDAH and will be back in business shortly. (I really, really, hope so, anyways. My poor Hubs is getting run ragged caring for his pitiful wife and I’m getting a bit tired of sounding like a man. Also, I’m a very dirty sick person and I really need to sweep the floor, if only I could get up. Also, I start getting militant and very frustrated with sickness if it dares to stick around longer than 46 hours.)
BRING ON THE OJ! FIGHT LIKE A MAN, YA COWWAD!
(See? Sorry ’bout that. While I’m at it, any tips on fighting this booger off?)
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