Rocco: “You sound like shit.”
Me: “Imagine that! I feel like shit.”
Rocco: “You slept on two pillows last night.”
Me: “I fell asleep propped up so I could watch the TV.”
Rocco: “That cough is getting worse.”
Me: “So is the oil spill.”
Rocco: *stern look*
Me: *whistling, avoiding direct eye contact*
Rocco: “Can you please go see a doctor?”
Me: *in my best Arnold Schwarzenegger voice* “It’s not a tumor.”
He hates that joke. HATES when I say that. Almost as much as when I crack that-shit-will-give-you-cancer jokes. Ah well, I guess you have to know your audience.
I feel like someone shoved a sleeping bag into my nasal cavity. No, sleeping bags are dry. Let’s try that again – I feel like someone emptied the contents of a #10 can of tapioca pudding into each of my nostrils. Based on the fun things I’m collecting in tissues, there may have also been some lemon curd involved.
So yeah, I’m sick. Not capital S sick (the kind that involved oncologists or surgery) but just plain old average every day sick. Oh, and I got my period. Which reminds me of the best line Barefoot Foodie ever wrote – “Have you ever thrown up so violently, your tampon shot out of your body like some kind of Nerf dart gun?”
Yeah, it’s like that but with coughing. So far no puke. Though these sneezing fits sometimes result in things flying out of my face.
As a result of my sexy sicko status, I’m probably the most popular person at the events I’ve been hosting this week. “Hi I’m Elly, *hack, hack, cough, awkward face, gulp down wad of phlegm, suppress gag reflex* thanks for coming! Can I have your la..las…*cough, hack, cough* last name so I can register you? *blows nose then mumbles*…in the face.”
It’s even better when I’m away from the registration table and people approach me casually. “Hi Elly, I’m…”
“Don’t touch me.”
“I’m not going to shake your hand. I’m wicked sick. You can thank me tomorrow when you don’t wake up looking like this.” Then I stick out my deceptively pointy elbow so we can bump appendages.
About 30% of them get it, bump elbows, and say thanks. About 30% continue to stare at me blankly with their hands extended. Another 30% flee the immediate vicinity while frantically rubbing Purell all over their exposed skin. The last 10%? Would you believe they hug me? I’m pretty sure I’m on the CDC’s watch list at this point.
To make this whole whirlwind travel, coughing up a lung, crazy work schedule flow even more smoothly, I had to cancel my credit card. It seems someone has been using my number to buy up AutoTrader ads and open online sports-betting accounts. The same credit card I used to book all my travel. No more kiosk check-ins for me! Good thing there’s only one more week of this fun.
In other news, a kitten will joyfully leap into a pile of wadded up kleenex and frolic with wild abandon. Then she will look at you with great disdain as she licks your phlegm off her little paws.
In other other news, this video is totally freaking me out: