I’m still trying not to cough up a lung every few minutes, but they’ve given me the good stuff while we wait to make sure I don’t have goddamned whooping cough (seriously, people, vaccinate your filthy kids) so at least I’m sleeping better.
Ironically, just before I got sick we were talking with some friends about how when they got sick recently, they got no sympathy from their wives about their “man flu.” All eyes turned on me at one point, as though I was somehow expected to take pity on them for having to get up and help with the kids and shit while they were clearly dying. If you’ve been here a while, you can probably guess my response, but for edification of new readers, it went something like this: “Don’t look at me, I’m on their side. What, you can’t wash a dish when you’re done blowing your nose?”
My point in telling you that story is that, if I didn’t actually catch the bullshit plague from my kid’s petri dish of a school, then we know for sure that in that moment, those three guys I consider good friends put some kind of curse on me.
Fortunately, my husband is willing to snuggle with me on the couch (Dr. wants me to stay 6-8’ away from other humans, but he sleeps next to me, so fuck it) and watch Kung Fu Panda.
HIM: (grabs my index finger between his thumb and index finger)
ME: What are you doing?
HIM: (extends pinky)
HIM: (bends pinky) Skadoosh.
ME: (explodes in coughing fit)
ME: Seriously, how shit would you have felt if that had worked?
HIM: (still laughing) I know, right?
Normally, sick me goes straight for Pride and Prejudice (the one with Colin Firth, it’s still my favorite) but I can usually only get him to agree when he’s sick too.
Hmm… maybe I should try Pride and Prejudice and Zombies?
We’ve also finally got around to watching Black Mirror, which – bonus! – chased Offspring right out of the basement with the first episode.
ME: The thing is, everybody knows now. So he’s got to do it.
HIM: Yeah. Basically.
OFFSPRING: (wandering in) Is that Mike Pence?
ME: No, just an actor who kind of looks like him. But he’s playing a reporter. (to Husband) I mean, he’s going to have to fuck the pig.
HIM: Oh, for sure. I mean, it’s between murderer and pig fucker.
ME: Nobody’s going to judge-
HIM: Yeah they will.
ME: Okay, but-
OFFSPRING: WHY IS MIKE PENCE GOING TO FUCK A PIG???
ME: He’s not, calm down. I mean… I don’t think.*
HIM: That’s not Mike Pence.
ME: Right. And anyway, he’s not the one who’s going to fuck the pig.
HIM: If he does it.
ME: He has to!
HIM: Oh, that pig is getting fucked.
OFFSPRING: (runs upstairs, is not seen or heard from until late the next day)
* Seriously, I’m not trying to get political here. I’m just saying… I don’t know what he does with his free time, do I? For all I know, there are porcine support groups all over the country in the wake of his campaign tour. Or maybe there’s nothing of the sort and he would never, even to save an innocent woman’s life. That was actually my point – I don’t have any way to confirm or deny any suspicion that may have arisen in your mind on this issue, so you should probably go ask him and just leave me out of it. Really.