Much more commonly, a child will climb into your lap, wrap his arms round your neck, gaze into your eyes and then sneeze directly into your open mouth.
AND, once this happens to you at least once a week during every cold and flu season for several years in a row, you probably won't even bat an eye. In fact, you'll probably just rinse your mouth with soda and call it good. (I'm pretty sure Dr Pepper is a dentist.)
Young children won't share toys without a fight, but they're generous with their mucus.
Those who interact with these lovable little carrier monkeys tend, until their adaptive immune system kicks in, to be forever sick with something. Usually something gross. Luckily, I've been exposed to enough germs to last a lifetime and usually only get knock-down sick once or twice a year. Last week was my one allotted illness for the year. A couple weeks ago I was at the receiving end of a terribly slobbery toddler-kiss; the kisser was diagnosed hours later with RSV. Awesome.
I didn't mind the fever, the croupy cough and the general achiness but I hated losing my voice for over a week. (For someone who talks as much as Kelly Kapoor, loss of voice is tantamount to loss of limb.) In fact, I still haven't quite recovered and if you call me you can hear firsthand what my roommate is calling my 1-900 number voice.
I took a couple days off work to recover and OH MY GOSH ARE SICK DAYS AWESOME OR WHAT? I totally forgot being home sick is pretty much the best time ever. And also? How long are days? I couldn't believe it. When you're rushing around with work, church, family, chores and whatnot the days never seem long enough. But when you're in your sweats watching Law & Order: SVU and eating a grilled cheese sandwich? They are niiiiiiice and long. (Speaking of grilled cheese sandwiches, is 3 in 24 hours too many??)
Every once in a while I would get up and pad around the house in my slippers but seeing the unmade bed in the bedroom, the unwashed hair in the bathroom mirror and the atrociously unmopped kitchen floor would drive me back to my blanket cocoon and dreamy Elliot Stabler.
Oh, but that kitchen floor. It is perfectly horrendous. I used to be really on the ball with the floor mopping. Every other Saturday, plus whenever we had company, plus whenever anything spilled, I was all over it. But lately? I don't know. It's just not happening. Not to mention I can't find the mop anywhere. Or the bucket, come to think of it. I may have accidentally maliciously destroyed them in my sleep. I've done the whole Swiffer WetJet thing occasionally over the past couple months (did I just admit to the Internet that I haven't properly mopped my kitchen floor in a couple months?) but usually I look pointedly away as I walk into the kitchen with the idea that if I can't see the floor, it doesn't exist and therefore ne'er needs a mopping.
But that's the beauty of sick days. It's the best excuse for everything. The floor is dirty? Too bad. I'm sick. I shouldn't be eating so many butter-laden carbs? Well, I'm sick. I'm allowed. (Wait--I have a cell phone picture to go along with this . . . )
|Homemade whole-wheat bread, enormously pretentious cheese and a week's allotment of butter? Yes, please.|
I really need to do this more often.
(Just checked with HR; I have 165 hours of sick leave accrued. Oh, I am starting to get some ideas . . . )