One of those lovely, lovely summer colds, bred in the 80% humidity and 100 degree temps of Loveliest South Georgia in August. It’s not bad enough to warrant deepest sympathies and casseroles from the neighbors, nor petty enough to take a Sudafed and ignore. My head feels like a bowling ball, my nose, she runs and runs and runs. I’m going to pull an Aunt Martha soon, and just stuff a tissue up there and leave it. I am debating getting dressed, or not. The bathrobe is comfortable, as is the mussed hair, but so will be the cotton seersucker dress that fits like a croaker sack but is less likely to alarmingly flash the children. However, getting dressed involves climbing the stairs.
The dogs are symathetic, as dogs are. Good dogs. The cats, especially Phleud, seem also to be sympathetic, or that could just be fatigue. It’s hard to tell with cats. He kneaded my shoulders a few minutes ago, but you know cats. Inscrutable creatures, they are.
I am staring at the case of DVDs, wondering what to watch today, as watching is surely all that will get done. #4 reminded me of my stack of coupons, including a few that promise he’ll fix dinner if I’m sick. There are plenty of leftovers in the fridge: london broil and baked potatoes from last night, spaghetti from the night before, and chicken soup, so I won’t have to cook. Even sandwich supplies.
I’m going to go lay on the couch now, and feel sorry for myself, with a heating pad on my back and another one on my face, and listen to the news, about How Awful It Is and How Dare They and For Only $12.99(plus shipping and handing).