He looks at me with an are you serious look and when he realizes I am serious as a heart attack, he laughs. I have to admit, I was a little irritated by his inability to keep his thoughts about the situation to himself. You see dear internet, this is how it goes down. 3 a.m. Friday morning, the morning after Christmas, my dear, sweet Alexandria woke up with the angriest stomach bug I’ve ever seen. Despite my Lysol spraying, hand washing, and Germ-X, which I dab under my nose (though my family and co-workers find this hilarious as they are determined it will never work, but I beg to differ), I inherited the violent and beastly stomach bug about 3 p.m. that Friday afternoon. I will tell you here and now, I was dying. I. swear.
I looked at Jerry Don and worked hard to convince him I was dying, but he just backed it with more chicken noodle soup and Gatorade. Bleckkkk. Did I mention Gatorade and my taste buds don’t see eye-to-eye? I tried harder with whining and repeated Oy veys, but he would just reply, You’re not Jewish.
It was then. Then and there I said I would rather have bronchitis or strep throat. Despite my seriousness of the situation, he laughed. And laughed. And laughed. Because apparently, he is under the impression when I’m infected by either of those two illnesses, I whine and moan wishing for the stomach bug instead. Pffft. I just say his memory isn’t as good as it once was.
Despite who is wrong (him!) or right (ME!), the illness has finally left the Stricklin house! And despite this all, there are 3 things I know:
1. I like to say Oy vey. It’s fun, Jewish or not.
2. Gatorade and I will never see eye-to-eye, no matter the color, shape, or size.
3. Despite my whining ways, my hubby is a pretty good caregiver.
Happy Tuesday, Dear Internet!