Wednesday, January 10, 2018

Chicken Soup For The Sick

Oh, by doodness. By doze, by doze!! Oh, brudder. Reading dis is gonna be as hod to do as it dis to breed. Breadthe. BREATHE.
Wait a binute.
I’ll interpret.
The view from the winepress this morning is depressing. My fifth box of Kleenex looks as sad as I feel, its next volunteer sticking up out of the cardboard box near my laptop and listing awkwardly to starboard. It knows what’s coming—foul nasal nastiness too disgusting for even a disposable handkerchief to contemplate. If it knew how to do it, I bet this paper tissue would jump overboard now rather than face its horrible destiny.
I get it. If I had the courage, I’d jump, too—right into a giant vat of chicken soup.
Anybody know where I can find one of those?
I’m not sure how long hubby and I have been sick. I only know that this record breaking virus, the final kick in the keister as 2017 bid us a bitter adieu, is one for the books. Almost all my friends have it. No, I didn’t give it to them. Sheesh. How could you even suggest such a thing? I might have given it to hubby, but that was an accident waiting to happen.
You can’t share the same doorknobs and remote control and not wind up in sick bay together.
Any minute I expect to see an unmarked van pull up to our house, where six men in white, inflatable jumpsuits will emerge, teepee the place with yellow caution tape, and warn the world that the two of us are walking bio-hazards—living, breathing, bio-hazards. Still, I wouldn’t blame them or the neighbors who ratted us out.
I’m afraid of my germs, too.
It’s not fair. We haven’t had a cold in two years. Two years! Do you know how long it takes to stack up a record like that? Two . . . oh. You did the math already. Now, we have to start all over again, from the ground up. I thought we were on our way to indestructible. After all, we drink homemade kefir—every day! Guzzle gallons of kombucha every month. I even throw back teaspoons of cultured sauerkraut when I think about it. Did you know when you take an ordinary, unappetizing head of cabbage and ferment it for a week that the vitamin C content skyrockets from 30 milligrams a serving to 600-700??
Of course, a serving is one cup. A teaspoon is . . . embarrassing.
That might be where I went wrong. Turns out it doesn’t keep you healthy if you merely admire a jar of kraut in the fridge every day. You have to actually eat the stuff.

Please don’t tell Donna Schwink.
And holy cow. Do you have any idea how expensive it is to get sick? If I’d just eaten that sauerkraut like Donna told me to, I could have taken all the money we donated to our neighborhood pharmacy last month and used it to . . . buy more kombucha. That's a pretty pricey probiotic.

The point is . . . well, what is the point? There’s no point. You’re probably sick with the same cold as I am and, as we watch helplessly, it's currently morphing into something more serious which, in the end, will be so expensive it’ll leave you nearly broke and you’ll be forced to send the kids to community college instead of funding an Ivy League education for them. So, all this whining from the winepress about how my nose is keeping me awake at night is just about as interesting as watching infomercials at 3 a.m., like I did this morning.
I knew you’d feel that way.
Well, I have no advice for you. I have no advice for me, either. I just thought we could toast one another with a cup of hot tea, blow our noses in unison, and promise ourselves that the next time we think we’re immune from the common cold, we get our heads examined before they’re taken captive by a rhinovirus.
And maybe eat another teaspoon or two of der sauerkraut.

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