What is it about this time of year? I swear, every year at just this time I manage to catch some sort of plague.
This year’s model snuck up on me while I was getting ready for bed…
ME: (prods throat) That’s weird. I was wondering why that pill wasn’t going down so I felt—
HIM: (feels) Yep.
ME: But I feel fine!
HIM: (backs away) Uh-huh.
ME: I do!
HIM: (blows kiss)
ME: I feel fine.
HIM: You feel fide?
ME: FINE. Asshole.
HIM: (laughing) I know.
ME: I never said fide.
HIM: You did once.
From this humble beginning sprang perhaps the oddest of my March Maladies: the Toggle virus. This cunning bug evades medical intervention by only bothering its host every other day. That is, on Monday you might notice some odd symptoms as I did above, but feel fine; By Tuesday you will be sure you are dying, because you are. However, when Wednesday dawns you’ll be clear and energized and convinced it was just a 24-hour thing—this is a mistake, because Thursday will be the day the Toggle really kicks your ass. You see? By the time you could get in to see your doctor, you’d be reporting how ill you were yesterday and he’d send you out with a pat on the head and a reminder to drink lots of fluids; over-the-counter medications likewise have no chance against Toggle, because you’re too weak on alternate days to take anything and by the time you build up some strength it’s tomorrow and you’re feeling better anyway.
Why science is not studying me I’ll never know.
ME: Oof. Not doin’ good!
HIM: Are you gonna be able to go?
ME: I’m tryin’.
HIM: Can we stop for food on the way?
ME: I’m not driving. If I’m driving, we’re going this far, no farther. (points)
HIM: That exact spot on the bed, huh?
HIM: I’ll drive.
ME: I’ve got just enough energy to drag my ass to the makeup desk—
HIM: (sighs) You don’t have to—
ME: I’ll feel better if I do. And I left time for it. I just… I got out of the shower four minutes late, you know?
HIM: (gasps) Four minutes! You’ll have to do only one eye!
HIM: I don’t know why I thought that would be funny . (turns)
ME: I don’t know why I married you.
ME: (quietly) At least mine was funny.
Once again you’ve distracted me and caused me to go on and on about something only tangentially related to my intended point, which is this: shamrock shakes are medicinal, and I really need everyone to just accept this and quit judging me. Likewise, please stop asking if I’ve put pot or alcohol or anything else in the shake; I can’t explain it and I don’t have to—all I know is that the cool minty shake is the only thing I can swallow on the days Toggle hits me hard, and it makes me feel better for almost a whole hour—if I take a full 25 minutes to finish the shake. That’s medicine.
Also, could someone pass the message along to my jeans? I haven’t spoken to them since Toggle hit, and I’m concerned they won’t understand these were not recreational calories…