My several fans have clamored for me to update again, so here I am. You can stop getting your knickers in a twist over it. I'm back.
I had been sick with The World's Worst Head Cold for over two weeks, which truly changed my outlook from one of cheeriness to Let Me Please Just Die Overnight, Okay? Anything But This Incessant Coughing and Wheezing. Really, quite a change in personality for me, usually talkative to a fault. In fact, when my throat hurt its worst, I sat next to Wayne, who was asking me something innocuous (as is usually his habit).
I squeaked out quietly, "Throat hurts too bad. I ... can't ... talk." In his usual droll fashion, he continued to stare at the TV, now playing another old episode of Alias Smith and Jones, and said simply, "Finally."
Just as I was getting better, he started sneaking the thermometer out of the medicine cabinet and getting up in the middle of the night to hit the Chloraseptic bottle. Unlike regular people, Wayne unscrews the spritzy top of the bottle and just chugs the stuff, gargling it loudly right outside the bedroom door (in the kitchen), awakening even the mice in the basement. The sound is probably more effective than the mousey poison-dishes we put down near the fridge last week. (They have this blue crunchy stuff in them and look like little pet food dishes -- almost cruel, really, except when you consider the alternative of mice munching on the Cap'n Crunch and the instant rice in the pantry next to the fridge.)
Where was I? Oh yeah. Head colds. Anyway, Wayne's now fighting off the cold I probably gave him. Probably? Well, considering I was sleeping in his recliner and preparing his dinner and doing his laundry for those two weeks I was sick, yeah, I'd say he got it from me. Anyway, he must know what a turn-on the mixed aroma of Nyquil and hand sanitizer is because he's dousing himself in both things like they're cheap cologne on a gigolo. I swear he uses the hand sanitizer (this gallon-sized pump thing from Sam's Club) like body wash in the shower. Reminds me of when we were first dating and he'd wedge a quart-sized pump-bottle of hand sanitizer between the bucket seats of his Lumina and use it before kissing me at the drive-in.
Ahh, back when we were middle-aged and foolish! Memories . . .