Thursday, April 17, 2008

Talking Trash

In other news, I've recently acquired the latest in preschool viruses- the most fashionable sinus headache, coupled with this season's unstoppable snotty nose- which then morphs into a transcendent chest cold that feels like the entire last season of Project Runway is sitting on my chest (which occasionally makes me cough up a lung and pee my pants a little bit so I don't think they'll let me wear their creations anytime soon).

I hate being sick. My husband, dear man that he is, has an extremely short attention span for sickness- and I blew all of his goodwill two nights ago when he brought home Chinese and put the kids to bed. Today, my wheezing is so bad, I sound like a geriatric prank caller, and my energy level is zip.

In my Nyquil induced stupor, I suddenly realized I forgot to drag the trashcan to the curb today for pickup. The kindly garbage man stopped in front of my house, and leaned on his horn- as if to say "Come on Sicky Girl! Drag your sorry ass over here and tinkle your pee pee all the way to the curb so I may relieve you of a week's worth of refuse." I pretended like I couldn't hear him.

I'm going back to bed now.

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