I guess it was bound to happen.
I got caught by the Fun Police. My punishment? The flu.
Yesterday was spent in sweatpants and slippers, my hair tied in an unbrushed knot (not hot). I shuffled around the house, wearing my favorite throw blanket like a cape, toting a box of tissues. Cholula played shadow, instinctively knowing that I needed extra snuzzles, keeping my place warm when I got out of bed and spending her day lying around like Mama.
The faithful kettle stayed steamy all day, constantly ready to pour another cup of tea. There were mid-day movies and closed window shades and a few dirty looks in the direction of any rogue sunbeams…because it’s so much easier to be sick on an icky day.
I’m not good at being sick. I feel bad asking someone else to do things for me. I don’t even really LIKE tea. I see that big pile of laundry that needs folding and feel guilty. We’ll see how today goes- 13 hours of sleep must have some healing effect, right?
When you feel under the weather, it’s harder to be grateful. It has to be intentional. I do have an excuse to watch chick flicks and catch up on old magazines. I also love my slippers. I guess I’m starting to enjoy tea a little more (at least the Red Zinger and Honey Vanilla Chamomile kinds). I have the World’s Most Comfortable Couch to camp out on. Plus, with an extra warm blanket (shaped like a Cholula) and a handsome savior bringing me tea and medicine (shaped like a husband), I have to feel like a lucky girl.
Even during the sick parts.