Sick Day

I took a sick day today and came to work.

Yesterday morning, I woke up ill. I felt like I’d been beaten up in my sleep and didn’t have the energy to move. 2 minutes later Billy burst into the room clutching my dressing gown shouting, “up daddy!” “get up!” “uuuuuuuuup!” He does this every morning.

He climbed on top of me, pressed his cold snotty nose into the side of my head and screamed one more time “get uuuuuuuuup!”

I staggered out of bed, eyes crusted shut after just a few hours of fitful sleep. My head was pounding and I was covered in sweat. I hoisted my tired frame into the shower. It felt good, and after a few minutes I resolved not to go to work. I’d spend the day recuperating at home I thought.

“You’re not wearing that?” Heidi said in disbelief, as I put my shirt on.

“Why not?” I replied defensively, “It’s a shirt, what’s wrong with it?”

“You said you were ill!” She shouted.

“I am ill!” I answered.

“Then why are you wearing a shirt?”

This went on for some time. Why can’t ill people wear shirts? I wondered. What specialist ‘illness attire’ was I supposed to dredge up to authenticate my illness?

“So have you had diarrhea?” Heidi asked.

“No.” I said

“You’ve not vomited.”

“No.” I concurred.

“So what’s wrong with you then?”

“I’m ill alright, I’m sick, I feel like crap, just leave me alone.”

I went back to the bedroom for a lie down.

“If you were ill you wouldn’t be wearing that shirt.” I heard from the other room. “What kind of person wears a button down shirt when they are ill?”

On and on. I put the pillow over my head to drown it out.

It wasn’t long before Billy came to see me.

“Daddy’s poorly.” I said, hoping to elicit some sympathy.

He looked at me with kindly eyes and then stroked my hair a little.

“Daddy poorly.” He informed Heidi.

At least someone believes me I thought.

After a few more tender strokes of the hair he got bored. He looked at me for a moment, and then jammed his dirty fingers into my mouth all but choking me. After that he worked his way to my ears and tried to pull them off the side of my head. Then he lodged his cold, fat heavy knee into my neck, with the whole force of his body behind it. I screamed like a pathetic girl, “HEIDI GET HIM OFF ME!”

The rest of the day was made up of similar moments. I was given an hour’s respite when Heidi took him off to his friend’s house, but at 4:30 I was completely abandoned. I pleaded with Heidi not to go to work, to take a sick day herself and look after me.

“Oh stoppit,” she said, “If you were that ill you wouldn’t be wearing that shirt!” And then she left.

At 7 this morning I felt worse than yesterday. I’d been racked with fever all night and had a pounding headache again.

Billy soon arrived on the scene. Today he had a big smile on his face. “Aaaadent unpants” he said.

“He’s had an accident” Heidi continued for him, “he pooped in his underpants and it was really disgusting”.

“Unpants unpants poooo poooo” Billy sang into my sensitive left ear.

I resolved to get myself to work no matter how I felt; I was never going to get better in this mad house. I popped a bunch of pills, had my shower and stumbled outside into the brisk November air.

5 hours of peace later and I am feeling a lot better.

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Dairy Produce

Heidi gave me strict instructions last night that I had to put all the shopping away, and I had to do it properly this time or I’d be in big trouble. Then she rushed off to school.

This rather harsh command was prompted by my failure in recent weeks to accomplish such seemingly simple tasks.

Last week I put a bar of green soap into the cheese tray in the fridge. We had to wash ourselves with shampoo until the day Heidi fancied a cheese butty. I think my subconscious must’ve mistaken it due to its cheese-like film wrapping. Why my conscious mind didn’t pick up the fact it was bright green troubles me somewhat.

A few days later I lost a $5 pot of Greek yoghurt. I don’t know what my subconscious had me do with that, as it still hasn’t turned up. It is probably putrefying in my underpants drawer.

Last night I was doubly careful, assigning every item to its correct location with machine like precision. I really didn’t fancy incurring any more of Heidi’s wrath, so once everything was put away I cleaned up the kitchen for good measure.

Halfway through my shower this morning an apoplectic H. stormed into the bathroom yelling “Can’t you be trusted to do ANYTHING!? You are useless! You left the milk in Billy’s stroller!”

Oh ye gods strike me down, for I have sinned! I thought to myself. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t see it, I erm…” I said.

My punishment is that I have to do all the shopping next week, with a list Heidi writes, and I am not allowed to deviate from the list OR ELSE.

I seriously hope I’ve not started down the road to dribbling cabbagedom, because if I have, my future nurse has one hell of bedside manner.

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Bugs to Zaps

It’s that time of year again when the last of the mosquitoes finally dies and mother nature scratches her mischievous head looking for other ways to torture us. I just turned the tap on to get a drink and was hit with a 10 megawatt lightening bolt for my troubles. AKA a static shock.

It’s not me I’m worried about you understand? I don’t mind being terrified of metal objects for 4-5 months out of every year. I don’t mind that I daren’t change the volume on my hi-fi lest I’m zapped across the freakin’ room. I don’t even mind that I’m forced to brave the elements in a thin cotton jacket, being as I am, too scared to even look at a woolly jumper. They lie scattered around the apartment sizzling with latent malevolence.

It’s poor Billy I worry about. The second the moisture disappeared from the air his excema returned. That in turn brought on the itching, which started 2 or 3 days ago and will most likely stop in March. Some of the mosquito bites haven’t quite healed yet, so he’s been itching the tops off them. A misery seasonal overlap. Why do I live here again?

Last year we bought him a humidifier for $12.99. To increase the steam output you added salt to the water. If you added too much salt, it became a steam furnace and turned his bedroom into a fetid swamp. We were lucky we didn’t infest his lungs with fungus, as we had no idea how to clean it. It involved vinegar, but it made absolutely no sense. We put it in the trash in the end.

humid.jpgAfter days or tortuous Internet research we’ve now bought one for $160. It is easy to clean, doesn’t deposit mineral dust all over the room and can also maintain a constant humidity. Finding one that can do all these things is no easy feat. Heidi has been boring me to tears with news of her search for days. If I ever wanted to cry more than I did yesterday when she told me we were spending the day humidifier shopping, I don’t remember it.

If you are having similar troubles, spare yourself the bother of looking around and just buy this. If it doesn’t work I’ll let you know, and if that is the case, we’re moving to the tropics.

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