Maybe you’ve noticed every other blog includes pathetic whimpering posts about the cold or flu the writer is overwhelmed by. In my ceaseless effort to stay au courant, to remain ahead of the curve, to leave the Joneses in the dirt, I am now sick myself. Snotty and achy with a dry hacking cough that sounds like a student production where they decided to create a mashup of Camille and La Boheme. I am staying home from work today and, oh boy, this is also the day the new carpet is being installed. I’m sure it’s not really any louder than a small war being fought in our guest room and I’m dealing with all the dust stirred up by inhaling it so it doesn’t mess up the house. That’s just how I am, giving, giving, always giving. Do you think it’s possible to drown in your own snot?
I wish I had a houseboy who was talented in nursing, but when you pick them based on their pole dancing ability, like Wolfgang Cupertino here, I guess you can’t have everything.