Friday, February 05, 2010

I may already be dead and no one has had the nerve to tell me.

 I have been so sick for the past couple days, I can't imagine I could have felt worse if someone had lit me on fire. In fact, I almost think soaking my head in kerosene and striking a match to it would have been a step up.

 I finally stopped throwing up, which is absolutely grand, but now I feel like my eyeballs are too big for my face and at some point, I must have eaten a bowl of Kellogg's Jagged Glassios. I did venture forth to take a shower, but I didn't feel I could commit to going the distance with a hair dryer so my hair looks very much like I imagine it would look if I had dipped it in swan placenta and brushed it with a pot holder.

Yes. Swan placenta.

All I'm saying is I was sick and now I'm technically post-sick, but still feeling like I should be in intensive care somewhere. I'm not the only one. Mr. Man would fall on his face and thank the Lord above if I were to be in intensive care somewhere because that means I would not be here. I reminded him that he promised to love me in sickness and in health, but frankly he's especially focused on the "til death" part at the moment.

In all honesty, I actually wrote our wedding vows because I was so upset at getting married again that I didn't want one single thing to be traditional about the promises we made. I felt it was best to be realistic at that point. Now I can't remember if I even made him promise to love me in sickness and in health OR til death. In fact, I think I wrote something like "I promise to love you until they stop showing reruns of Friends in syndication."  I'm also fairly certain there was something about me always having control over the remote, and about making sure we only bought the good paper plates, forever and ever. Amen.


I can't say enough about paper plate quality as it pertains to a long lasting and happy marriage.

Anyway, he's getting up at 0500 hours in the morning and heading out to a ball game to watch his offspring play. Did this game suddenly come up when he couldn't take any more of my being sick? I almost think it did. Have I ever in the history of my 100 years on this planet heard of a ball game at the butt crack of dawn? I have not. Is he making up a lame excuse to get away from my bug-eyed self for some sweet relief? I'm gonna say yes.

Next time I write my own damn vows, I'm putting something in there about being forced to love me when I am sick and mean and smell like swan placenta.

Yes. Swan placenta.

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3 comments:

Tidewaterbound said...

God Bless you Sher, please get well soon...I simply cannot LIVE WITHOUT you brightening my days. I adore you, would come and feed you, worry over you, and likely not even let your sleep for my fretting over you.

Harry has a LOT of work to do, to nurture you, comfort you, help you to recover.

Meanwhile that Mister Man is so friggin' SLACKIN' as I've got 10" of snow, lost my power twice in the last three hours, facing at LEAST another 10" of snow and 50 MPH winds...and YOU told me he ruled the weather. I thought he LIKED me. Do I NEED to deliver lasagna, Fried Chicken, or chili for Sunday's Superbowl. Honestly, I will move heaven and earth, just make this CRAP STOP! I am covered, coated, and becoming buried by ice and snow...oh, and the WINDS.

Please get well, and PLEASE ask Mister Man, "our Harry" to FIX this for me really quick.

Love you BIG bunches, but I'm having ISSUES right now. Don't make me cuss.

Dawn said...

Holy shit, girl. I cannot even begin to imagine from what part of your brain the words "swan placenta" originates. This might be a side effect of the meds? Or the wild jungle rot that has infested your body? Let's just focus on the fact that someone will goggle swans placenta and find you. A new friend! Meh. Maybe not.

On a side note, I remember the man in this house not having time to help me off the floor during a migraine because he was busy CUTTING HIS MOTHER-TRUCKING TOESNAILS!! On second thought, I have a feet aversion and he was right to stay the hell away from me. So. There's that.

Feel better soon, midlife has no room for flu, jungle rot, etc.

Sher said...

Y'all are sugar lumps. Thank you. I'm on the mend.