Sicko me

I have a cold and a tummy boo. I don't feel good. I get cold so I put on a sweater. Then I get sweaty and I take it off. Then I get cold again, and the sweater goes back on. Warm, and the sweater comes off. And the process starts again, with me sneezing and blowing my nose throughout.

I get sick only once a decade or so. For a long time I thought it was because I am a mom, and as a mom, I am blooming with acquired immunities. Let's face it: for years you get sneezed on and urped on and adorable little beings want to kiss you with their germ-crusty little mouths.... After a while the immune system cowgirls up for the job and you can laugh in the face of any nasty bug.

That was the reason I rarely got sick.

Ah, so wrong, grasshopper! Something else is a-work here.

Here's the real reason: I have no patience with being sick. I hate sitting still and letting the viral icks run loose in my system.

I have things to do!

My kids did great sick faces. You know the kind, where you think sad, sad thoughts (Lassie fell in the well, the store is out of chocolate milk and will never, ever sell it again, for Christmas you will get only underwear and educational toys, etc.) and your face mirrors it so perfectly that no one with an ounce of sanity could doubt for a single minute that this next breath could easily be your last, and you will expire, right there on the couch, like a forgotten coupon.

I got lots of advice from friends. Sit down, feet up. Or go to bed. Drink water. No, tea. Herbal brews. Read. Sleep. Do nothing.

Do nothing? How does that work?

Here's what I did: I went to the grocery store because the cat needed food and a new litter box and litter. My sick face was fully made up (vanity, oh vanity!) and I was wearing my favorite Itasca sweatshirt, and all was good and I felt better when I was outside, and I thought maybe I was actually healed, that my maternal immunities had finally kicked in and then....

Right by the cat food, HEAT! No, COLD! No, HEAT! No, COLD! And let's face it, there are only so many layers a woman can adjust at the grocery store before she's carted off by the cops. And I so do NOT look good in jail-orange.

So I finished my shopping, shivering and sweating, went home, unloaded the car, fed the cat, set up her new litter box, and collapsed into an antisocial heap in my chair, with my sick face on, thinking my own sad thoughts: the cat doesn't want to eat THAT food and she doesn't want to potty in THAT litter box with THAT litter.

And I forgot to buy the cold meds and aspirin. PLUS (now, here's the kicker) I'm sick on the weekend! THE WEEKEND! Now, that's sad.