Yes, you read that right. I am feeling much better and officially human-like again, but after a solid week and a half I am still not quite over this ailment that is going around. Clint doesn't usually bring me any tchotchkes or souvenirs from his business trips, but this last one was special. He came home from Boston with the beginnings of a cold, which progressed over the weekend from a scratchy throat into a full-blown debilitating disease and then glommed onto me. Last Monday, I thought I might be getting the sniffles, and by the time I woke up Tuesday morning, I was convinced that Death had come to take us both.
To give you an idea of the severity of our sickness, Clint stayed home from work for three entire days last week--that is longer than he was out when he had his appendix removed. He struggled back into the office on Friday, but wound up coming home early to "help me out." He's a giver like that, that man of mine. Especially since helping me entailed napping on the couch and helping drink my cough syrup. In sickness and in health, unless it means there is only enough codeine for one of you, and then all bets are off.
|I call this look flu season chic.|
I channel surfed and enjoyed all that daytime television has to offer until I was completely glazed over. Then, I scoured Pinterest for things I will never bake and crafts I will never make. I tried reading a magazine, but quickly found that having to hold said publication, read actual words, and turn the pages was just too much physical exertion. I thought about walking the dog, but I was afraid the neighbors would find me curled up beside my mailbox, asleep in a Nyquil-fueled stupor, and I'm pretty sure that kind of thing is frowned upon here in my suburban oasis neighborhood.
Since Clint felt marginally better than I did, and since he was the one who was the most hungry, he made a run to Harris Teeter to pick up some sustenance to get us through our infirmity. Like I mentioned, it's January, and since we have been on an all-you-can-eat spree since Thanksgiving, we had spent almost half the month trying to eat healthy (I guess we see where that got us, right?). This came to an abrupt end when my other half came in from the grocery store loaded down with Twizzlers, Swedish Fish, chips, queso, and cookies. Feed a cold, starve a fever? At the Stancil house, we feed it ALL. Heaven help us if we ever get whatever condition it is you are supposed to starve, because it will obviously be the death of us. Clint's get-well dinner menu for Friday night was a very nourishing combination of mozzarella cheese sticks, chicken fingers, and mini corn dogs. If that's not on the road map to recovery, we don't know what is.
Stocked with a surplus of snacks and a cache of cold medicine, we took turns coughing and complaining our way through the long weekend, and then Clint headed back into work on Tuesday, fully recovered. I am still nursing a sore throat, congestion, and steady, barking cough, but I'm proud to report that I'm back in the full upright position and am a fully-functioning citizen of the real world again. I even cleaned house today in an attempt to sanitize everything that we contaminated during our flu furlough. The candy is gone and the queso is running low, so it's time to get back to as normal as things get around here. After getting hit hard with that long-lasting ick, I think we are due for a run of robust health for a good long while (here's hoping, anyway). I'll leave you with wise words I saw on a cocktail napkin a little while back: