Diary of a Fluish Woman

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!


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