So, Mike missed five days of work, FIVE DAYS, as his cold roared and all the sparkle-sparkle previously discussed turned to the dull glint of used orange juice glasses. He just, as in last Sunday, came off a stint of antibiotics for the lingering mucus issue he picked up from the bad cold he caught in the States seven years ago... and the day the latest stab at antibiotics finishes, he gets another killer cold, perhaps even worse than that one? What?
And then there's me, going on all week about how the reason I only had a sniffle last weekend was because my career has advanced to the point where I've built up The Bigtime Teacher Immunity. Three-point-five years on the job, and I'm just a commemorative postage stamp for White Cell Tyranny. I may as well retire. I'm that awesome.
Until I wake up in the middle of the night because someone left the tap on... the tap on my face where the nostrils should be.
So this is our replacement plan for the weekend, nose tampons and Victorian-style damp washcloths to the forehead. (Do you say "forrid" or "fore - head"?) Perhaps it's not much more exciting than the original plan, which involved thinking about the $15 tickets for Al Stewart at Club Madrid tomorrow.
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