It started with allergies, then a cold, and this morning stomach flu.
I might as well put myself back in bed and forget about today. No one wants to be around someone oozing from every pore. I feel horrid and obscenely biological and not at all sexy.
Who can feel sexy when they feel like this?
I can’t imagine kissing me… and I really can’t expect anyone to. There is nothing romantic about illness, unless you’re in an opera. I never understood how the soprano’s died of Tuberculosis – which destroys your lungs – and sing those amazing arias right up to the moment they kick the bucket.
Yes, it would be nice if the world was more like opera or a Nora Ephron movie. Oh, to look as good as Meg Ryan in that scene from You’ve Got Mail when Tom Hanks visits her and she has a cold.
But it isn’t, and I look like death warmed over and feel even worse.
…and I’m running out of tissues.
Licks! (oooh ick!)
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