Unbagging the Cats 1

Unbagging the Cats 1

Monday, May 21, 2012

Fearing the Reaper

Hick has returned from his business trip to the east coast last week. He brought us a little surprise. A sickness that starts with fever and progresses to weakness, snuffling, whining, and coughing up chunks of vital lung tissue. I hope it's not Captain Trips.

I really don't feel like walking all the way to Denver. And besides. I've not been dreaming of a little grammy-lady rocking on her front porch. Nor have I been dreaming of a dark man. I suppose my soul is up for grabs.

Last night, I avoided bedtime like a toddler hopped up on birthday cake and Mountain Dew. When I forced myself to retire at 2:15 a.m., I could not fall asleep. The final straw that broke this damsel's back was when Hick rolled over and spewed his breather breath across my neck, over my right ear, and past my face. My face, with its attached nose and throat! Prime pathways for pathogens to follow while I snoozed the snooze of the unconscious. I tried to hold my breath, but I am not some freaky sort of David Blaine creature who can be buried in a coffin of water for days at a time without need of oxygen.

I forsook the bed and made Hick's big blue recliner my resting place. And in keeping with the infectious-disease protocols understood only by himself, Hick opened the bedroom door upon arising and HUFFED through the opening, right across my defenseless face. Deja vu.

This evening, I will be actively avoiding Typhoid Mary, Patient Zero, and The Original Swine Flu Boy all rolled into one and referred to around these parts simply as "Hick." Because I don't want any part of this pandemic he might be spreading.


Sioux said...

They're so generous with germs, aren't they...

By the way: More cowbells.

knancy said...

Oh dear god, I am so glad I live alone. This posting is just too yucky. Bar yourself in the basement office room or whatever you call your cavern. Let the young males defend for them selves - testosterone will probably keep them kicking.

P.S. Why do you even sleep in the same bed with a person who breathes foggy germs all over you all night long?

Carol said...

Start chugging Airborne and taking Zicam! It really helps.
(as would a little common sense about not spreading germs, but I'm preaching to the choir here...)

Linda O'Connell said...

Swallow two vitamin Cs and slug OJ...or Hick.

Leenie said...

There is a law against pathogen huffing. Call out the pandemic police.

Val said...

Perhaps I can wrap a Will Farrell More Cowbell shirt around my head as a preventative measure. I'll ask my niece if she can spare hers for a week.

Alas, my basement lair has no door. But I am relatively secluded unless somebody feels the need to tell me that "SOMEbody really needs to do the laundry."

I consider the breathing of the foggy germs a condition of the WORSE part of "for better or for worse." It's as binding as those pillow tag removal laws.

Please consider that I'm dealing with a man who told me, "YOU'RE the one who says food needs to be refrigerated!" So all that germ-spreading advice tends to fall onto deaf ears.

Ever since Hick became unhinged that time I threw a roll of toilet paper at the back of his head, I have reined in the slugging urges.

I hope they have GPS. Or at least dreams of an old writer-lady sitting on her porch.

Kathy's Klothesline said...

I work on the theory that breathing his germs creates immunity in me. I never take flu shots, since the last one caused me to over ovulate and resulted in twins. I am surprisingly well, just tired.

Val said...

I hope they add that side effect to the flu vaccine insert.