Thank God for Take-Out
Sorry for the absence in posting. Vic and I have spent a week hosting the current cold virus (or,as we like to call it, the “hackfest from hell”) and I have only now had the strength to crawl over the mountains of dirty dishes and Kleenex to get to my computer.
Survival has been our only focus.
I remember the days of my youth, when getting a cold meant a couple of days of NyQuil shooters and wiping my nose on my sleeve.
No so anymore.
As I’m sliding ungracefully towards 40, I’m pretty sure that the common cold will kill me…and I’m at peace with this.
FYI, Gracie is having the greatest time in her young life. If she had the eye-hand coordination to wield a spork, she would now be the dominate species in our home. Instead, whenever she makes a noise one of us flings a handful of cheerios in her general direction.
She spends most of her day locked in mortal combat with the dog.
That, or she’s chewing on her new favorite toys…my DVD’s. I don’t care…as mentioned above, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to make it, and God wouldn’t let me bring most of those movies with me anyway.
Phlash, in hopes of getting something to eat, follows Gracie shoulder-to-shoulder wherever she crawls. Together they look like a badly-written “incredible journey” movie.
However, not all is lost. I’ve made some surprising insights during the last week. For instance, hundreds of years ago the average life expectancy was about 35 years. Modern science would like you to believe that this is due to things like “genetics” and “evolution.” (These are terms that they made up to keep getting grant money)
I’ve discovered that the real reason for this shortened life-span is that they hadn’t invented “Take-Out” yet.
Ergo…when a couple got sick in the 1400’s, and couldn’t call out for pizza or the Happy-Panda special, the whole family would starve to death instead of getting out of bed to make a peanut-butter sandwich.
This, I’ve determined, was the wise decision. If the effort to unscrew the peanut-butter lid hadn’t killed them, they were sure to be buried in the avalanche of dirty dishes.
On a related note:
The Chinese-restaurant delivery guy won’t even knock on the door anymore. One look at me in “I’ve been sick for a week” mode (think: the bad guys from “Deliverance,” only in week-old sweatpants) and he now leaves our food at the end of the driveway and honks. He apparently values his life more than his tips.
If we live, I’ll post again.
If not, somebody please bring my daughter some Cheerios…before she eats the dog.