Mar 02 2008
Man Flu
My husband is sick.
If, by chance, he does not survive, his death will have nothing to do with the viral or bacterial infection his body is fighting.
It’ll probably have way more to do with me covering him in used snot rags, pouring Robitussin over them, and tossing a match on the whole mess. (Maybe then I wouldn’t hear anymore “I’m sooooo coooooold.”)
Please come visit me in prison. Promise?
(I am sooooo not a nurturing person where grown ups are concerned. Seriously. I can’t summon up any empathy at all for whining. I’m a bad, bad, very mean wife. And I don’t even swallow.)
