Before I begin hammering on my keyboard, I want to go on the record saying that I'd been counting down to this festive break since Labour Day and with a skip in my step, I left the office midday the 22nd . Who knew the proverbial bus (unexpectedly filled with a ton of bricks) was driving around town looking to hit me?
BOOM! I awoke with a sore throat the morning of the 23rd with the oh so “slight cough” creeping in by mid day Christmas Eve. By suppertime Christmas Day the high fever had arrived in dah house & I was down and out for the count. I was so terribly ill there was no Facebook, no Twitter, no “YaGottaLaughAboutit” nada, nothing, zero, zip, squat.
Not only was I too ill to spread sarcasm and wit to all my social media kin, by the night of the 27th I was ready to call 911! Who knew you could overdose on Lofthouse’s Fisherman’s Friends? Crikey those boys are powerful! Should have known when I slept with the packet under my pillow for the second night in a row there could be trouble.
Not only was I too ill to spread sarcasm and wit to all my social media kin, by the night of the 27th I was ready to call 911! Who knew you could overdose on Lofthouse’s Fisherman’s Friends? Crikey those boys are powerful! Should have known when I slept with the packet under my pillow for the second night in a row there could be trouble.
Most people would reflect and say “I can’t remember the last time I was that sick” but it seems I do. Yep, it was Christmas of 1989 just six weeks before my eldest son was born. Ah, the dastardly flu of ’89. It now ranks up there with the plague that hovered over me the Christmas of 2011.
No comments:
Post a Comment