Several days ago, the doorbell rang.
DING! DING! DING!
Opening the door, I found no one there. Though, I felt something underfoot. Something was amiss. A light breeze twisted the ends of my wet hair. Andrew called from the house, "Close the door! It's cold."
We didn't know it at the time, but a day or two later we met our Invader, the Marauder, the Illness Packed Microbe that would wreck schedules, blow through 4 boxes of Kleenex and no one remembers how much 7Up, Jello or toast. The Menace, as I'd like to call it, has been here for a week and it's high time The Menace took off.
Me: Get Out.
Menace: (Evil Laughter)
Me: No really, get out. I'm out of Lysol. I give up. Get Out.
Menace: (More Evil Laughter)
Me: Listen, you've wiped out three of us. I don't think the big guy is going to fall. Didn't you notice he came home with a surgical mask and gloves? Besides, the neighbors have like 9 kids, try them instead. Wouldn't that be more fun?
Menace: I'm thinking. Do you have any dirty Kleenex left? You picked everything up.
Me: (Evil Laughter)
Menace: No really, what's with the bucket of soapy water? And the laundry? You never voluntarily strip beds.
Me: Who said it was voluntary. Are you interested in my bucket? It's warm. Don't microbes like warm, wet places?
Menace: That does sound nice. Your family runs around in their underwear. That's not very warm, but that bucket looks like a spa.
Me: It is nice.
Me: It's Bleach! Die you rotten thing! Die!
In my brain, this is how to conquer the flu. Perhaps I'm still feverish.