Who wants to purchase some lungs?

Well,  all's well that ends well I guess.

Here's what happened today:

Everyone's sick.  The P-man had it first, and then my wife, and now the Peanut and me.  Although, the recuperative powers of youth have her jete'-ing through the play room and doing back-walkovers off the couch in just two days.  I'm powerless to stop her.  My sinuses finally started to unclog today but I've got a cough that feels like I'm being kicked in the lungs by Jet Li while they're filled with sand.  

But. I shook that shit off today because today was parent orientation day at the P-Nut's pre-school.  I showered and everything.  

It was pretty exciting.  There had to be at least a hundred parents stuffed into a small cafeteria in a school that had no A.C.  I believe the temperature reached a high of fuck you and the horse you rode in on degrees.  Celsius.  

But, I shook that shit off.  I grabbed a brown public school paper towel and folded it and mopped my brow and every time I coughed I held it tightly yet discreetly to my lips like I have the Consumption. 

Other people who suffered the Consumption:  Cat Stevens (no shit), W.C. Fields, Thomas Wolfe, D.H. Lawrence, Igor Stravinsky, Moliere, Voltaire (it rhymes!) and Jose Pancetti.  I have no idea who that last person is.  Or half those people.  But they were on a list of famous people who had the consumption, so it's some pretty heavy company I keep, is what I'm saying.  

It really was great.  The teacher has it together.  She has some solid teaching ideas that variate from the common curriculum and the classroom was cute and organized and she's stealing my fucking baby.  

But, I shook that shit off.  I paid close attention to the entire cafeteria presentation.  I noted that the principal seems competent but sufficiently weak enough for My Wife to push around if it comes to that.  

In the teacher's classroom, I listened attentively and filled out all the forms as neatly as I could.  This is difficult for me because I have the handwriting of a hyperactive serial killer riding on a mechanical bull.  

Then I came home and the house was a mess.  I took out the trash and got lunch together.  Which meant heating up some calzone purchased at the local bakery.  Then I collapsed and while my wife organized the kids' art work, I rolled around in my big chair and coughed and read and cat-napped and coughed and blew my nose and helped modestly by throwing away some trash.  I'd had it for the day.

But.  I shook that shit off.  I changed all the beds and got the laundry in the washer and said to the kids, "Why don't we blow this shit hole and head for the fucking beach, ya cockknockers?"  Or words to that effect.

And everyone was pretty happy.

Epilogue (Because this post feels longer than a Miley Cirus concert):

I got home and my cough got real bad.  Pounding my chest, headache inducing, bad.  

I could not shake it off without help.  I figured I'd take some Nyquil and take my carcass to bed. 

Then, I shook that shit off.   I figured, why take Nyquil?  Why not cut out the middle man and have a couple fingers of good ol' Makers Mark, straight-up? So I did.  And let me tell you, it works rather well.  

The End

P.S.  Congrats to Always Home and Uncool and the rest of the Cure JM team for winning the most serious Pepsi Challenge ever.

HM