I feel the need to give myself a Time Out to explain my absence over the past month. It begins and ends with one f-word:
(actually two: there was a Funeral somewhere in there…but I shall remain respectably mum about that.)
I don’t have official confirmation if I had a cold, pneumonia, the regular flu, the avian flu, the virus formerly known as the Swine Flu, or some super-flu. Whatever I had, the onslaught lasted for almost two weeks (and carried over to some sleepless nights as my family suffered). And the cough still lingers like ketchup on a new tie.
So…flu. You’ve worked my immune system overtime and I’ve got to give you the pink slip. You’ve sidelined me for much too long. If there was some way I could give you the flu, I would. But I can’t. So the best I can do is shake my finger and put you in Time Out.
For the following reasons:
- A cough that made dogs cower under the nearest pillow.
- Taking me out for a week (missing a few work days) without even getting me flowers. Or paying for dinner. C’mon, Flu!
- Making my family sick all at the same time. So none of us were really in the best condition to take care of the others. We defaulted to the one who could move the most…that was it!
- You owe us money for cough drops, tylenol, and kleenex. I’ll be sending you a bill.
- You showed up at our place without notice. One day…healthy…next day, pure sickness.
The only way you could’ve made up for it would be to have House cure me at minute 42 of the first hour.
For now…you are in Time Out…indefinitely. With no dessert!