Can it still be called chicken noodle soup?

Being sick sucks. And yet, it is delightful.

I took a sick day today. The entire day. I slept until 10:30, then spent the rest of the day camped out on the couch. I don’t think I ever got around to brushing my teeth, which I am not proud of, but it’s ok.

I’m hacking like a TB patient. I now have what could be termed “a productive cough.” I talked to my mom and she was all, “Honey, that’s great! That means your body is getting rid of the bad stuff!”

Is it wrong the the gunk I cough up interests me just a teensy bit?


Mr. Wonderful has been a great caregiver and has shown that he still has that special flair for knocking my socks off. The first time he ever came over to my house – on our third date – I had poison ivy on my face, which my dogs had so graciously shared by rubbing up against me.

Mr. Wonderful ran to Wal-Mart, bought some toxic chemicals and then sprayed the yard. And then he kissed me.

When I got a flat tire, Mr. Wonderful took my car and bought me tires.

And now that I’m sicker than a dog?

Mr. Wonderful bought me chicken noodle soup. He heated it up. And, because he knows that canned meat of any sort heebs me out, he picked all the chicken out of the soup.

Every last piece.

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