This week, I’ve succumbed to some kind of debilitating caboose infection. Is it a coincidence that I slept in a caboose last weekend and am now sick? Of course not! While laying out the obvious facts of my case to my hubs, Kenny, he has been dismissively skeptical. Blah, blah, you just have a cold, blah-blah. Right. A cold. Clearly, there is something more nefarious at work here that he is being willfully ignorant of.
It all started with soreness in my throat and fits of sneezing but progressed from there. My head has felt like it’s been in a vice all week, I can’t breathe, I’m feverish and so very tired. It feels like I’m awake but not quite – like I’m a zombie. Doesn’t that sound more like I was bitten in the night by some train car ghost hobo than a garden variety cold? I mean, come on!
Last Sunday morning when I awoke from my caboose-induced slumber, my left wrist joint hurt terribly and continued to be problematic all week. There were 364 other mornings in the year to date when I woke up without pain in my wrist. What was different about that morning?! Caboose.
You see what I’m dealing with here?
While at lunch during the week, Mr. Funny, smugly snickered at his own joke when he asked me if I had plans for this weekend, like maybe sleeping in a cement mixer or something. And while I shot him the evil eye on principle, I wondered how the average person would even be able to get inside the barrel to lay down. I think someone is losing their marbles. Am I right?
I get this look a lot.