I must have caught it on the plane — this cold or plague or bird flu that has me in its grip right now; my house is knee-deep in used tissues and frankly it is all very disgusting and gross.
I haven’t been able to sleep because of it all, I lay in bed tossing, turning, coughing, wheezing, sneezing, moaning, sniffling, too hot, too cold, achy, annoyed. Finally, last night I couldn’t stand it any longer. About 10pm I threw on my jeans — commando style — and decided to go to the store to stock up on supplies.
I teetered slowly down the medicine aisle of Safeway, surrounded by late-night university student shoppers. I must have looked like a drug addict or drunk. I picked up some Nyquil — proven in its abilities to knock me out for the night — and mounds of cough drops and throat anesthetic. Oh, and more tissues.
And it wasn’t until I made it back out to the car and sat down that I realized: when I pulled on those jeans sans underwear, I neglected to zip up my zipper.
LMFAO!