“Hi, boss? It’s me, Erin.”
“Yeah, I just wanted to let you know I can’t come to work today.”
“My throat hurts and can’t you hear how my voice is all scratchy?”
“And I’m just really weak and tired. My job is pretty physical and I’m not sure I can handle it.”
“Plus, my neck is kind of sore and my job requires I lift two heavy packages several times a day and it kind of pulls all funny when I do that.”
*sips some tea*
“And I have this Nyquil hangover and I feel fuzzy and groggy. I don’t think I have the mental capacity to handle all the mediating and decision making I need to do.”
“Plus, it’s kind of noisy on the job and I think it might aggravate my headache.”
“I really think if I could take the day and just sleep I could nip this thing in the bud. Just let my body rest and do its thing. Ya know?”
“What? Go get you some more Cheerios? And some juice? And help you wash your hands because they’re all dirty? And clean up the milk from the kitchen floor? And…so, no then, huh?”
*ignores body aches to get off the couch*
“OK. You’re probably right…it’s not so bad…”
*pours preschooler some juice, picks up a baby (or two)*
“I’ve had much worse. Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’ll be right in.”
In honor of my not-so-nice cold (which feels a little better today than it did over the weekend), I thought I’d leave you with one of my favorite poems: Sick by Shel Silverstein. I’ve loved it since I was a kid.
"I cannot go to school today," Said little Peggy Ann McKay. "I have the measles and the mumps, A gash, a rash and purple bumps. My mouth is wet, my throat is dry, I'm going blind in my right eye. My tonsils are as big as rocks, I've counted sixteen chicken pox And there's one more--that's seventeen, And don't you think my face looks green? My leg is cut--my eyes are blue-- It might be instamatic flu. I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke, I'm sure that my left leg is broke-- My hip hurts when I move my chin, My belly button's caving in, My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained, My 'pendix pains each time it rains. My nose is cold, my toes are numb. I have a sliver in my thumb. My neck is stiff, my voice is weak, I hardly whisper when I speak. My tongue is filling up my mouth, I think my hair is falling out. My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight, My temperature is one-o-eight. My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear, There is a hole inside my ear. I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what? What's that? What's that you say? You say today is. . .Saturday? G'bye, I'm going out to play!"