Hooking up with my happy place – Five Minute Friday.
The theme today?
Ok, it’s totally obvious that I could go for the higher ground here. “Common.” Like in:
or even, if you are me, talking to my kids EVERY the morning,
“COMMON! We’re late!” (har har har. Clever momsie)
But, as I have already established: I VERY OFTEN AVOID THE HIGHER GROUND, PEOPLE. I AM A LOW GROUND KINDA GIRL.
So, today we’re gonna talk about:
THE BLEEPING COMMON COLD.
My husband is sick. And before I say ONE more word, I would like to provide a quick disclaimer:
I really do love my husband. And, pretty sure, he loves me too. We’re married, you know. So, that means, we’re in it for the long haul. We’re on the same team. We are in it to win it. I don’t know how many more cliches I can throw at you before I am penalized, so I’ll just end here: I asked him, “How often can I throw snark your way on my blog?” And he was all, “Darling, I love you . I know you must write your feelings, because feelings, and airing them for thousands, is really important to you. I am here for you. I am your snark-ee. I believe in you, my dove. Besides, I totally deserve it, every time.”
Disclaimer to the disclaimer: MMmmkay. That’s not exactly what he said.
Ok, so back to this:
My husband is sick.
Oh holy kleenex, get a grip, man.
He has a cold. And this is what he does: He puts on this huge hoodie and pulls the hood up all over his poor smushy cold face, which kinda looks like this:
Yes. It’s a dog. In a hoodie. Very, very close in its likeness to the hubster, I promise.
He kinda slump-walks around, with his hood all pulled down, and sadness just seems to follow him, like a germy, despairing cloud. He flops down. He sighs. I follow him with hand sanitizer and I have been known to surreptitiously spray the couch with Lysol as soon as he gets up. He turned, when he heard the spraying sound, but since he is SO VERY SICK he turned all slowwwwwwwly. Kinda Vincent Price style. Therefore I had plenty of time to hide the Lysol can behind my back and offer him some soup. He kind of squinted at me, like the cold was causing an onset of sudden blindness, which totally makes sense. Whenever I get a cold I lose my eyesight as well.
But somehow I still manage to walk around the whole house and do laundry. Also cook. And go to the store. And clean the bathrooms. While blind.
I do these things, WHILE I AM SICK AT THE SAME TIME.
Anyhow, the husband has now realized he left his water glass outside in his car. I know this because he has just croak-whispered to me,
“Cup… in car… must have water…” And then he curled up in a germy fetal ball on the kitchen floor. One of the kids stepped over him without even a comment. And guys? I so would have offered to get him the cup. I LIVE for getting the cup.
Like, seriously. Marriage law #345 = YOU GO GET THE CUP.
However. I had my hand stuck up inside a whole chicken. I realize this takes the blog for a hard veer, but I was making chicken soup for my plague husband. This involves getting really, really personal with a chicken. Like, you and that chicken are going to really get to know each other, and the clean up afterwards is rather extensive. It’s all so gross.
And so, as the husband was gasping his last breaths to me, I slowly turned, all Vincent Price, with a chicken-hand. And I gestured:
“Hold on just a few minutes, dear. I have a chicken-hand.” And as I gestured, the little floppy chicken wings seemed to actually point at him.
It was clear to both me and husband that the chicken was on my side.
Because, also? I was kinda sick of the sick husband. Just a little. I had grown weary of him sounding like Johnny Cash whenever he spoke, and how he seemed to be dying all the time. I get sickness, I do. But there is another law of marriage:
Marriage Law 346: IF YOU ARE A GROWNUP YOU GET ONE DAY OF BEING REALLY SICK. AFTER THAT YOU ARE ON YOUR OWN. I HAVE CHILDREN TO FEED.
Soooo. The visual of me with a chicken ON my hand startled the husband enough that he actually went out to the car to get the blessed cup. And, when he came back, he had donned his sunglasses. Which made him look kind of like this, minus the mustache.
And that’s when I started referring to the husband as “Ted” for the rest of the afternoon.
I know. The snark is strong in this one.
The common cold. It will not break this marriage, to be sure. But it will give me lots of material to blog about. Thank you, Ted, for that.
*Final disclaimer: No husbands were harmed in the making of this post. They were brought soup with saltines, and cuddled with on the couch, and they got to watch football for hours on end, and there was ice cream. And I know I used the “they” like I have multiple husband and holy matrimony, ain’t nobody got time for that.
And also, I have a cold now, so there’s that.