Sick people are really boring. I should know because, as you know, I got sick a week and a half ago, which is rare for me. And as you all further know, I’m a complete baby when I’m sick.
I happened to be on the phone with my mother a few days ago and mentioned how sick I was. I told her how I had to lie down for days on end resting and napping. She said, “What was wrong with you? The flu?”
I told her that I’m pretty sure it was just a really bad cold. She started snickering. “A cold?” To defend my honor I told her I had a fever, too. She stopped snickering and said, “Oh, a fever. You poor thing. Well, that makes a difference. Was it a high one?” I told her, “100.4.” She misheard me and said, “104? Well, no wonder…” “No! It was 100 point 4.”
And that’s when she burst into unrestrained laughter.
All she could come up with was some nonsense about being “in the hospital with internal hemorrhaging on Christmas Eve and still recovering a month later from the loss of blood, but even then I didn’t have to lie down and nap for days on end.” She kept laughing until she couldn’t breathe.
I was so glad I could bring joy to her life, what with her recovering from her stint in the hospital.
Of course, it was after I talked with her, and thought I was on the mend, that my normal cough developed into the Cough of Doom. If I lay perfectly still, like on a couch in front of the tv, the cough would go away. But if I stood up, like to get to the box of Junior Mints, the Cough of Doom would come rushing in full force. Every single breath for the past 7 days has been painful and I could hear horrible rasping noises when I breathed deeply. Darling Husband could hear the noises from across the room. Kinda scary.
I’ve been forced to lie around napping and coughing and making pathetic whimpering noises for the past 10 days of misery. But I’ve learned a few things while I’ve been sick.
First of all, I really, really, really enjoy lying around watching tv and eating Junior Mints all day. When I’m not sick, I tend to be a somewhat hyper and driven person. I once told a co-worker that I’d love to retire and lie around somewhere warm for the rest of my life. He said, “No you wouldn’t. You need to have things to do. You’d get bored.”
He is so wrong. I laid around for 10 days taking naps and watching tv and it never got old. Seriously—it never got old. The only productive thing I did was to clear out about 700 items from my Netflix streaming queue. But then I had to take a bracing nap after all that productivity.
The second thing I’ve learned is never trust Rob and Jo-Ann when they tell you a movie is good. They told me Attack the Block was a good movie, albeit a bit gory. It was an alien movie, so I settled down hoping for a movie like District 9. What I got was Killer Klowns from Outer Space. What a disappointment. Darling Husband said, “Well, what did you expect from an alien movie made in the 80’s?” I said, “Dude! It was made in 2011!” And he looked confused and crushed and said, “But…but…the music! There were…synthesizers!” That’s right people. Synthesizers. It was Just That Bad.
I’ve also learned that men had really long legs in the early 80’s. How do I know? Because I watched about 20 minutes of Miracle on Ice and those men had really long legs.
That was another bad movie. No wonder I had to take so many naps. All those bad, boring movies really wear a body out. Maybe Miracle on Ice suddenly got better 21 minutes into the movie, but the first 20 minutes were pretty bad. There were about 500 characters that I couldn’t keep track of and they all randomly skated around a hockey rink looking slow and bumbling. The coach yelled a lot and absolutely nothing happened.
I was feeling really bad the day I watched A Miracle on Ice and was wishing I could take a nap, but I was afraid I’d have nightmares about those men and their long legs. All 500 characters, except the coach, wore painfully tight jeans and it made their legs look freakishly long.
Speaking of men’s legs, I’ve also learned that black really is slimming from watching football. That wasn’t this week that I learned that. No, I watched a few minutes of a football game, once, about two years ago. One team had white pants and the other team had black pants. The football players with the white pants had legs that looked muscular and strong. The football players with the black pants had legs that looked small and delicate. Football players aren’t supposed to have skinny bird legs, so, like Moses turning aside to ponder the wonder of a burning bush in the desert, I stopped to watch the game long enough to figure out why one team was so delicate looking. Upon closer inspection, I realized that it was the black pants, slimming their legs.
Look at this skinny leg:
This is a picture in a Children’s book from 1916. It’s supposed to be Cinderella running away from the ball. My mother and I would pull out this picture from time to time and stare at Cinderella’s leg and cackle at it until we were choking. The longer you stare at that leg, the funnier it gets. Go on, stare at it for a few minutes. Try to picture the entire leg. Now, picture both legs. And picture her standing on those spaghetti legs in a pair of shorts. If that doesn’t brighten your day, nothing will.