It never fails. If I have nothing to do, no one to see and nowhere to be, I feel great. If I have plenty of things that I have to do, places to go and a busy social calendar, my nose will turn into a snot faucet. My throat will become sore and I will cough up mucous in an endless stream in between violent sneezes.
I was sick at my wedding. The last time I went back to Colorado to visit friends and family during Thanksgiving, I had a horribly contagious cold.
It never, ever fails.
Now that the Hotel Massoud (a.k.a our home) is booked solid from September 7th to September 22nd, I’m all hopped up on cold medicine and have sneezed so much that the cat has made herself scarce, refusing to be in the same room with me.
I think Olivier is enjoying this, though. I can barely speak, which means that I cannot effectively piss and moan about anything, nor will there be any reprimanding or lecturing on issues such as leaving the toilet seat up or playing in the kitchen while I’m cooking dinner.
I can’t talk about how much the humans annoy me, my disdain for turnips or how much it sucks that we don’t have a dishwasher.
This all leads me to thinking that I’m not very well-prepared. I should have planned ahead for times like this. Now I’m thinking that when I’m feeling better, I should have a collection of pre-recorded messages that can be played should the need arise if ever I cannot speak again.
All I’d have to do is follow him around with my previously recorded diatribes on the extreme level of suckiness of the turnip, which would then roll directly to the next track issuing a lecture on the dangers of sleepy women falling into toilets in the middle of the night because the seat was left up.
I can’t believe that I never thought of this before. Next time, I’ll be better prepared.