There’s hardly I time when I think to myself, “Pangie, you know what’s better than a sore throat, crusty eyeballs, and ears that are stuffed with mucous? Pretty much nothing!”
A normal person would look upon an eminent sickness creeping its way into their Body Temple as a time to reassess their health habits, rest, and put everyone on notice to stay away, lest they end up with the sickness.
Me? I start popping every pill I have in my house that says it will cure any type of “histamine” or “chills” or “aches” or “pains,” turn on Real Housewives of Your Backyard, and use my sick puppy dog eyes on Patrick to take over every housewifely duties. I do my best to work through the Illness O’ The Day, but “working through it” means “staring blankly at the computer screen hoping for something to pop through and make me well.”
It also means that I write posts that have an inordinate amount of quotation marks.
Shockingly enough, I hate when people whine (see: my children about EVERYTHING), so I’m just going to go sit in my corner of the internet, waiting for people to bring me chicken salad and crackers, and NOT complaining that The Sickness is invading my Body Temple.