pre-flu dread

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Betsy: "Fleck's hands are small."

John: "I know."

Betsy: "Fleck! Show us your hands! Hey! Show us your hands!"

John: "Show us your tits!"

Betsy: " .... "

John: "Wait. That was something else."

Betsy: "Show us your hands, Fleck!"

John: "They are not yours. They are his own."

I know. We're a couple of dumbasses. John has an excuse; he came home early today with a fever and all those terrific pre-flu symptoms. I picked up some Tylenol Flu and chicken broth from the store, in between getting my hair cut and paying off my speeding tickets. I brought him some flowers, too, because I'm going to be sick in a couple of days. We went to the clinic on base, where we scored a giant bottle of 800 mg Motrin tablets. Gotta love that military health care.

Other than that bit of running around, I did little today. I was up until four last night, fucking around online, and woke up around 9:15, so I was tired most of the day. I kept John company on the couch for a while.

I was lying on my stomach across the bed, flirting with the cat and half-watching Dirty Dancing on VH1 when Fleck suddenly had to be on the other side of the room. En route, he bounded over my face, and one of his back claws sank into my lower lip. Um, ow. It's not speech-impeding or anything, but it gave me a quick scare.

I'm going to bed early, and taking some Tylenol Flu to try and ward off my inevitable fate. If I catch this thing, it will be far worse than John's, because I never got my flu shot. And I'm not allowed to leave work early.