Sick Day...

Sick day's used to be the coolest. They meant that you got to skip homeroom and math class and you got to sleep in past 10 on a Tuesday. The best was when you knew that a cold was coming on so you could also skip doing your homework. You had the TV all day to yourself and your mother would wait on you hand in foot, bringing you soup. The next day when you came back to school, rested and refreshed, you'd be welcomed with hugs and well wishes. It was like coming back from war, except really you were just coming back from an all day Golden Girls marathon and turning your mother into a servant.

Fortunately, I never really got sick growing up. I had a bad case of chicken pox when I was about two, but I can't really remember it so I'm not sure if it really counts. My general good health is the result of me eating dirt, dog poop, leaves, and pretty much everything else bad for you when I was a kid, which subsequently made me immune to almost everything under the sun. It's my theory that those weird germaphobes who constantly slather on antibacterial get sicker, more often. I'm sorry but I do get some sick pleasure out of seeing those antibacterial freaks with a cold.

Sadly, despite my hard work trying to increase my immunity to all germs and viruses, today I'm sick. I'm sitting in front of the fire, in my dad's sweater wishing my Mom would fly to London to bring me Won-Ton soup and some orange juice.

Since I usually have the flat/tv to myself on a daily basis I get to watch Everyone Loves Raymond all day anyway. The only thing that really changes is now I probably won't be taking my daily walk and no one is contractually obligated to bring me soup or my favorite blanket. So here I sit, curled up like a dumb baby wishing and praying that the kitchen was closer. Long story short, being sick rocks when your 13, but this shit is lame at 22.