Yesterday, I did something I haven't done in years. I called in sick. When I messaged my predicament to my older brother, he cackled via text: Yes, the Superbowl Influenza. It's not that kind of sick. Because if it were, I would have recovered from that by 1 pm on Monday.
As we all know, being sick as an adult, well, it is really just a pain in the arse. No one wants to utilize a sick day to stay home because you are actually sick. Luckily, JohnnyMac is a champion of handling all things household on the rare, rare occasions I have fallen ill. And yesterday, as my eyes longingly looked at my laptop, I was physically bound to the couch. I can't tell you the last time I laid on the couch for more than 2 hours but apparently, when sick, you are supposed to rest.
When I was a kid, I loved school but just like any precocious youngster, I had days where maybe I wanted to lie about watching Little House on the Prairie and drinking chocolate milk.
One such day the following occurred:
My Mom comes into my room to wake me up. She always did this so nicely and the complete opposite of my Father who woke people up like a chainsaw next to a microphone. I told my Mom I was not well. She went to get the old school thermometer laden with mercury. She told me to hold it under my tongue and as she exited, I had a Nancy Drew moment to seal the fate of staying at home that day.
My fitful crying caused her hasty retreat back to my room.
"My mowwf," I said, over spastic crying.
"Let me see," she instructs as I open my mouth.
"You have a blister on your tongue. How did that happen?"
"I haf fevew in my mowwf???"
OR I burned my tongue severely after placing the thermometer on the light bulb of my nightstand lamp and failed to realize it would heat to approximately 108 degrees. My feeble attempt to jack that gauge up high ensuring I had a "fever" and clearly could not go to school before popping the thermometer back in my mouth. Kind of like liar, liar, pants on fire. Only much, much worse. I would have gladly sacrificed some pants in lieu of BBQ'ed tongue.
My mom brought me a piece of ice, maybe momentarily acknowledged my creativity, and then told me to get up and get ready. I enjoyed the rest of the week at school with an aching mouth and a dialect like Elmer Fudd.
And today is the last day for What do you want to Choo. Winner announced tomorrow. Good luck.