They say you never appreciate your health and home until you're eight hundred miles away from home hacking up a proverbial lung in a not-so-proverbial Microtel with suspicious sheets and a broken A/C unit.
Now, I know what you're thinking. Who are these mysterious "they?" And how do they gain their all-encompassing knowledge? And what, exactly, do sheets have to be suspicious OF?
(Have I mentioned yet that I've been taking a lot of Robitussin? No? Excellent.)
And so, in conclusion, I'm writing myself a Get Well post from all of you. Because I know you care. And I probably won't remember any of this tomorrow anyway. (Another hot toddy? Don't mind if I do!)
And hey, I'm right here!
I mean, just because someone is humming the theme song to 2001 while rocking a doll made entirely of used Kleenex doesn't mean she can't hear you.
(Daaaa. Daaaa...DAA DUMMM!!)
(For that matter, neither are the Dr. Pepper enemas.)
(In fact, I'm starting to wonder if some of these anonymous chat room doctors might not be entirely trustworthy.)
Well, I'm pretty sure that's a daisy.
So I guess that's one long shot that paid off in the end.
(Think it's solid buttercream?)
(And syringe cakes: do they really *need* a point?)
('Cuz I'd say that cheeky baker really injected some fun into his bottom line!)
(Something something spankin' new rear view mirror. Or something.)
Aaaand that's a bum wrap.