Saturday, February 5, 2011

And the Oscar goes Hubby

My husband informed me at 5:30 this miserable, rainy, and sleep deprived morning that he has come down with the flu. What he really meant was that after taking care of the kids for the last two days while I was deathly ill, now that the little ones are running fevers...he's outta here. Why am I so sure he's faking? Well, after sporting temps of 103 degrees plus, and comforting babies with temps of 103 degrees plus...Hubby's is 98.5 degrees. Suspicious, huh? After having my body ache like it was being carved into little pieces by blunt steak knives, he is stretching out in the bed like a lithe leopard. And, the final piece of evidence I'll offer is my cat's testimony. My cat won't bother you, unless you are sick, and then he holds a vigil by your bedside until you feel well enough to find him some table scraps to make his cat food more palatable. My cat is ignoring Hubby, just like always. He says he's sick? Bullshit. Try lazy on for a better fit.

This is our second Saturday after the move. There is a phenomenal amount of work to be done. I wonder which adult just got chosen in the "Who Got Screwed" lottery? Oh, yeah. Me. ME, me, me. No big deal, I'll stumble around dizzy and on the brink of passing out while climbing ladders and shampooing carpet. Am I a lucky girl or what?


  1. dude, vivvie. just lie down. damn the carpets, woman, damn them. just lie down...

  2. Damn the carpets indeed!

    Also, he might be suffering from the dreaded man cold.

    Nah, he's just run of the mill faking.

  3. Well at least if the kids are too demanding, send them to your room to keep vigil on daddy! At least that's a nice change to before when it was only you.

  4. Oh no! Do what I did. Declare a sick day strike. Crawl back on to that couch and stay there until you AND the kids are better! hugs!