Day one: I wake with a niggling little sore throat. By noon, tonsils have swollen to the size of Rhode Island. By dinner, I’m thinking this might help me get out of doing dishes.
Day two: The colony has established itself overnight, staking out territories from the Upper Nasals to the Dorsal Islands. First tiny cough escapes from my mouth. Hubby is fashioning a life raft out of wine glasses and duct tape.
Day three: Saturday and the infadel invaders have lit fires throughout my lungs.
Day four: Sunday. I hear drumming coming from the inner reaches of the ear canals. The invaders must be encamped along the canals and signaling to one another, those beasts. I can do nothing but wait upon the morrow when I shall consult the village wise man. I only hope I survive the night and that horrid drum, drum, drumming. In the meantime, America’s historic Health Care bill passes and I celebrate by coughing up a lung.
Day five: All is lost. The village magician can do nothing but offer a pinkish elixir … only after I pay him a hundred shiny pebbles, one goat and my fattest chicken.
Day six: I console myself with cookies. Lots of cookies.
Day seven: I wait. For what horror, I don’t know, but the siege of the infidels is nearly too much to bear. Even building a couch fort of blankets and Kleenex doesn’t help. The invaders continue to mount their offense, now taking my voice so I can’t even whisper my protestations.
Day eight: I continue to wait, but now I’ve discovered the healing properties of potato chips. According to the witch doctor’s pronouncement over me, I only need to hold out for six more days. I’ll let you know how that works out. In the meantime, I’ve sent out for more potato chips and … ICE CREAM!!!
Stay well out there, my friends. If the invaders should strike, however, remember … cookies, potato chips and ice cream are the only defensive weapons that seem to have any effect. Good luck!