Last Monday morning I woke up to the sound of a sniffle and the slightest hint of a cough.
These sounds put the fear of God in me.
Now if these sniffles had been originating from Maya’s room I would have been okay. I’d have bundled her on the couch with the iPad, the TV, a receptacle for the impending vomit, and I’d have called it a day.
But the sounds were not originating from Maya’s room. They were originating from our room. So obviously, things were much worse.
Ali : “Can you pick up 8 lemons, Sudafed, and peppermint tea?”
My Running Commentary : 8 lemons? Are we preparing to battle the bubonic plague for @#$’s sake?”
What I Really Said : “Sure, no problem.”
The next few days followed in a blur of :
- half cut lemons and seeds all over the kitchen counters,
- towels and tea bags from makeshift steam sites in the kitchen and bathroom,
- and remarkably absurd questions like, “Where can I buy soup?”
On Sunday morning I woke up sick.
Not unexpected when one is forced to clean up the lemons, seeds, towels, and tea bags, from one battling the plague.
Nobody cared. Also not unexpected.
If anything, I made muffins, scrubbed the trash can (self-inflicted punishment), and continued to field more absurd questions like, “How do I prevent you from getting me sick again?” and “Do you think the flu shot would be a good idea now?”
I swear, I can’t make this stuff up.