Not the fizziest title but stay with me here, I think I’m on to something.
I have a cold. It’s of the ninja variety. The type that you had no clue was coming and then wham! You are an aching mess of exploding snot. And darned attractive to boot. To make matters worse, I do not react well to being ill. The beloved refers to me as a pregnant dog. I want to curl up somewhere small and be alone until I get through it. I make a great patient.
The downside is that I am a grumpy wench and illness seems to linger, which is obviously the very thing I am seeking to avoid. So I have a new plan.
Tonight between 6 pm and 9 pm I am going to feel sorry for myself. I have warned the family. I am going to get a shower, get into clean pyjamas, eat the chilli that the husband has prepared, watching my comfort movie of choice (The Faculty) and then head to bed to listen to Radio 4. I’ll squeeze in time for sneezing, drinking hot Ribena and whinging.
This stinking cold is my body saying I need to rest and although it’s rare that I admit anyone is smarter than me, this time I am taking the hint. The idea of rest feels fizzy.
photo credit: Íris Juana