We’re sick. We’ve both come down with colds. And we’re crabby.
It never fails. Whenever we take vacation, we get sick. It’s like we finally relax and then all the viruses/bacteria/whatever in the universe get all excited at the prospect of a party. It’s just a matter of which one gets to us first.
This year, it’s a cold. Usually we get something on the plane, on the way there (which means we’re sick while we’re away, which always sucks) or on the way home. But this came on a little late for something from the plane, so I am guessing it’s just something we picked up while we were out and about grocery shopping or whatever this week.
As usual, BDH is sicker than I am. He always gets it worse than me. I have a head full of cotton and a headache, and maybe the beginnings of a rattle in my chest. But poor old BDH is honking and blowing and sneezing and coughing. And I feel bad for him. But he’s also one of those people who hates to have anyone fussing over him when he’s sick so he just walks around and grumbles about being sick and is… well… sick.
We’ve pulled out the daybed into a big king-sized bed, and we’ve pulled up the blankets, and we and assorted cats have found ourselves a nice snuggly comfy spot where we can feel sorry for ourselves and drink soup and watch DVDs until we feel better. Which should be sometime tomorrow or Wednesday, if it’s a typical cold.
Maybe I’ll knit some more. Who knows. Because the world can always use more hats.