Flu Foreplay.

So I wrote this some time ago in one of my daily meanderings to myself, but never posted it until now. But after spending three hours with my doctor yesterday for him to tell me I have Pneumonia and Asthmatic Bronchitis ("asthmatic"?? only I would get an illness from an illness I don't have) I am going to post this. Not so that you will pray for me. But so that you will pray HE doesn't get it. And here's why...

~~~~~~~~~

There’s a lot to be said about a husband and wife being sick at the same time. A lot. And most of it not good. I believe Tammy Wynette wrote D-I-V-O-R-C-E after her and George Jones shared a bad bowl of gumbo. Even a great Chinese philosopher was once quoted as saying, “Woman, I am a great Chinese philosopher. So you could you please blow that thing in a different direction?”

I should know; it was this day one year ago that I nearly killed a man with my bear hands. Only it wasn’t so much “kill” as it was “suffocate” – and it wasn’t so much “my bear hands” and as it was “my hands gripped around a bottle of Nasonex that belonged on my side of the bed.” Shallow victory you say? Try sharing a bed with a 210 pound nostril and then we’ll talk.

To be honest, the nighttime wasn’t that bad. Oh sure, there were fights over whether or not we slept with the blankets on or off, whether the house was too cold or too hot, whether or not Vicks Vaporub should be applied - there. But that was the fever talking.

Of course there was there one night that I found him staring at me with that look in his eyes. “You have got to be kidding me, “ I hacked.

“Well, I’m not. You got something I want. Something I need. So give it up.”

“I haven’t bathed in three days, my hair smells like a nursing home and you have more gunk in your eyes than our neighbors dog.”

“Either you give me that heating pad or so help me I’ll come and get it.”

And that was the extent of our flu foreplay. It really wasn’t much different than when we are well. He stares me down, I give in due to an overall exhaustion and fifteen minutes later we’re snoring.

No, nighttime wasn’t the problem; it was the day time we had trouble with. It was the moments we were looking at each other (with disgust), eating with each other (with great repulsion) and sharing the remote (with enormous disdain). Not that I don’t get a lot out of watching a show in 15 minute increments, but The Golden Girls really get lost in translation when they are interrupted every 15 minutes for NASCAR. To this moment I don’t know who bought Dorothy at the Bachelorette Auction – Betty White or Jeff Gordon.

But since Jeff Gordon is holding up a trophy and popping open champagne I’m going to assume it wasn’t him.

Or who knows - maybe he’s just excited he passed on the bowl of gumbo.