The Crud

Achoo! Sniff…sniff. Sigh.  I’ve got the crud.

Actually both Hubby and I do.  He brought it home, thanks to his business traveling and, being the generous person he is, decided to share it with me.  Gotta love this guy.

The good news is that neither of us has contracted the flu.  The bad news is that we feel poorly enough to not want to do anything.

It’s never a good thing when both of us are sick at home.  I mean, come on! Who’s going to take care of whom?

First, there’s the battle of the couch vs. the love seat.  The love seat has the ottoman for stretching out; however the couch has the better angle for TV viewing.  Hubby really likes the viewing angle and after some discussion we decide that he will get the couch. Due to a technicality, he also must assume responsibility for letting the dog in and out.  Hubby: 1, Me: 0, Crud: 2

Then there’s the debate over control of the TV remote.  Hubby likes to channel surf constantly, never stopping for long on any one show.  This is fine with me – WHEN I’M ASLEEP.  I prefer to stop on a channel and at least watch one show or a movie.  I’m already light-headed from the crud; I don’t need to be dizzy from channel surfing.  Since Hubby won the battle of the couch, I take control of the remote.  Score: Hubby: 1, Me: 1, Crud: 4

Then there’s the issue of meals.  First, determining what to eat is a challenge. Thank goodness I hit the grocery store before the crud knocked me off my feet.  But the real question is who’s going to get out from under their respective blanket to cook something?

“What do you want?” “I don’t know; what do you want?”  “Do you want me to get up, or do you want to do it?”  The passive-aggressive battle for food goes on for an hour while we watch the 1980’s classic, “Stripes” for the third time in a row.  The network must have forgotten to schedule something else.

By the time we have the movie memorized we’re famished, so I head into the kitchen with Hubby agreeing to clean up.  Score: Hubby: 2, Me: 1, Crud: 6

Just as the soup is ready, the dog decides that, as long as we’re not doing anything, we might as well let her in and out every few minutes.  Hubby’s got this duty.  Score: Hubby: 2, Me: 2, Crud: 8

All afternoon the debates rage.  Small battles take place, like who gets to use the heating pad, who should replenish the tissues and who should get the drink refills. We get crankier as the crud takes control, making us feel just lousy enough to be uncomfortable and a bit achy.  Guess we should be happy that we are not feverish. 

And that brings me to the debate over the thermostat.  The air-duct placement is not good for being sick, especially on the love seat since the heat is directed down onto me.  Hot, then cold, and back to hot – yet Hubby is at a constant temperature.  Thank goodness we each have our own throw blankets. Score: No points awarded here.

Finally, the day is over!  Time to drag ourselves to bed, with our blankets and Kleenex in hand.  The dog is hesitant to join us, preferring to stay out of the debate zone for the night.  She knows that it’s only going to get worse as we fiddle with the thermostat and fight over the lozenges.

Crud, you win.  Please leave before the morning. We’re begging you.