Husband is capping off a season of familial ill health with a humdinger combo of pink eye (looks like someone stabbed him in the eye with a rusty nail) and the 'flu (fever of 104!).
Go Husband! After your Xtide combo of sinus and ear infection, I think you win the prize for most miserable season (by which I mean Dec 20 to Jan 25). Clara comes second (bad cold, stomach flu, double ear infection). Me third (chest cold, stomach flu two separate times) and Winton 4th (two colds, one with blocked tear ducts, and a 1 day poop fest).
I responded uncharitably when he came home from the emergency care clinic with the flu news: "Oh, great. Now the kids will get it, and I'll have to look after them, and because you've already taken off your sick days, when I get sick I'll just have to suck it up and keep looking after the kids and going to work" (insert melodramatic stomping, which I meant fully sincerely at the time. I am not a very nice person). Then I added some paranoia about his job security, just to make him feel better: "They can't fire you for being sick, can they?"
I blame my not-niceness on first week of classes performance anxiety: here we go back to being vituperatively scorned on "ratemyprof.com" by Freshmen annoyed that they have to hand in essays and read books.
September always feels uplifting despite the anxiety. January, conversely, is the onset of doom, with syllabi contingent on unexpected snow days and explosive stomach flus.
The end is nigh.
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