I am sick. I have an upset stomach and an achy body and a fever. I want a cute boyfriend who will bring me soup and stroke my hair and tuck me in and make me feel all better.
I also want to inherit 100 billion jillion dollars from a long lost relative and to win the Nobel Peace Prize. At the moment these goals seem more realistic than the first.
Maudlin whining brought to you by TheraFlu.
Being sick is no fun. It seems that I’m only now getting over the winter blahs/flu/sickness of the past few months. Antibiotics are miraculous.
Get better fast! (As opposed to getting better slowly, it really is preferable)…
I see that the grief of our separation has manifested itself in physical ailments.
Reason # 2 for why our severance across a continent is as unlawful as a tube top on a big girl.
(Reason # 1 being that IÂd look great in a male nurseÂs uniform as I hovered over you with thermometer in hand).