Not the cat. That guy is too cute. Who I’m talking about, and isn’t cute, is Honey being sick. Now, there’s two ways I could explain this. My way and his way.My way goes something like this:

Meh, it’s a cold flu thing. No biggie. I had it all last week. Did I lose any writing time because of it? Nope. Did Honey notice enough to ask me about it? Nope. Did I complain about it? Nope. So, yeah. NO big deal.

His way? Well, for starters he pulled a Gloria Swanson coming into our house early yesterday afternoon. Seriously, he was ready for his Mr. Deville-Oscar-winning-performance close-up. But if that weren’t enough to get me LMAO the look on his flushed face would have. Here’s the conversation:

“Thank God your home.”

*Imagine me doing a big mental hurrmph here* because you and I both know he’s only happy to see me for one reason. I am destined to become his “slave nurse” for the rest of the day.

“Oh, and why is that?”

“I’m sick.”

Yeah, the way he announced that was as if the sky was going to fall and zombies were on the front lawn looking to find their way into our humble abode to escape that kind of travesty. “So?”

“I mean it. I’m really sick.”

*Looks right at you as I pull down my reading glasses* To me really sick is pneumonia, not a garden variety cold. What are your thoughts on this?

“I’m achy.”

I turn back to him and nod because that’s what I was last week.

“I have a headache.”

Check-eroo on that as I also had one of those.

“I feel stuffy.”

We could have been twins.

“I need to go to bed.”

And right there any relative similarities ended. Bed? I try not to let my brows disappear under my bangs as, you know, I’m totally gobsmacked here. Did I mention that not only did I release a book and market it last week, but I did the grocery shopping, all the cooking, and his effing laundry! Don’t get me started on that. Anyone who’s been following my blog knows how I feel about laundry…so where was I? Oh yeah, him wanting to go to bed.

“No you don’t. What you need to do is get changed and make yourself some soup. Maybe park yourself in front of the TV – in the family room- for a bit. Did you take something for it? I’m pretty sure we’ve got some medicine in the cabinet.”

At this point I can tell you with absolute certainty that he’s the one who’s gobsmacked. “But I’m sick. Don’t I get any sympathy from you?”

I thought about that for a mili-second, maybe less before I replied, “Sure you do. You get as much as you gave me.”

Haha! Poor baby. He did the old head fallback “come on!” impatient move, and then quickly regretted it as he nearly fell over from dizziness. How did I know this? I was dizzy from this head cold last week. >:) When he got a handle on the fever induced vertigo, he grumbled, “I tried my best. Guys aren’t good at this kind of shit.”

“You won’t get an argument from me there.”

“Not fair.”

“Not listening.”

Now, for those of you who might think I’m being mean I’d ask you to click on the Kitty picture above before you judge me too harshly. And for those of you who know me to too well, this is what I’m doing instead of catering to Honey who’s currently googling “walking pneumonia “, “typhoid”, and “meningitis symptoms. *shakes head* You remember my ice machine making ice dicks?

Well, I have a rather large update on this topic, so stay tuned. Honey is in for one helluva a surprise there. >:) ROTFLMAO!

Thanks for stopping by!

Riley