Here’s a quick way to tell if your weekend is going to suck: Your princess, who is an elementary school teacher, comes home on a Wednesday and says something like, “All the kids at school are sick.”
And then she comes home on Thursday and says something like, “There’s this one mother, she keeps sending her kid to school with diarrhea.”
And then she comes home on Friday and says something like, “I’m sick.”
It doesn’t matter. Whatever you do, you’re going to have a horrible weekend. Because she has been teaching for years now, and has built up an immune system that would impress Superman. So you can put her in bed and slide food and medicine in, like you’re some sort of prison guard dealing with a homicidal maniac. Like I said, it doesn’t matter.
Because as soon as she starts saying things like, “Well, at least I just got the sore throat and the congested head,” you know you’re screwed. “At least I didn’t get the diarrhea.”
When you wake up Saturday morning, you can pretend like that itchy throat is because you didn’t drink enough water, and the headache is because you didn’t get much sleep.
But come on.
And then on Sunday, there’s no pretending, especially not when you’re puking all over the place.
“You got the stomach thing?”
“I got it all,” You say, and you try to think about how you love this woman even though she’s apparently trying to kill you with some sort of evil biological warfare.
Stomach thing, congested head thing, throat thing. Sneezing, coughing, and if you do too much of it, you’re suddenly puking. And if you’re not puking, you’re shitting, because life is just that lovely.
And your princess, this woman you love, this woman you have nurtured back to health—made her food, gone on medicine runs in the middle of the night, tucked her into bed and made sure she’s okay—she repays your love with comments like, “How’s it goin’, diarrhea butt?”
You want to tell her she does not get to joke about this, but you’re too busy running to the bathroom.
Because true love is a rat bastard.
That’s how my life has been going. I skipped classes on Monday, and discovered today that because of that, I somehow managed to get like three weeks behind. I’m not sure how that works, exactly, but it doesn’t surprise me much. Two out of my three classes were cancelled yesterday, so I decided to skip the third one and stay home.
It worked out well, because choking back your own vomit gets old after ten minutes or so, and most of my classes are about three hours.
I’m better today—well enough to bitch about being unwell, anyway. Aside from a little nausea, I’m over the stomach thing, and aside from a fever and sore throat and congested head, I’m over the other stuff as well.
Hooray for living!