Last weekend was "The Greatest Homecoming on Earth" at, not only our Alma Mater, but hubby's place of employment, as well. For such events, he (and, to some degree, I am as well) is "strongly encouraged" to don purple, schmooze and "heh-heh" with the best of them. And he generally does, and does it well. So I was most surprised to find him in bed Friday afternoon when I got home from work while hundreds of purple-clad alums wandered the campus without his personal greeting. I will not detail the remainder of that evening other than to say it didn't take long to surmise that he had been struck with the same stomach bug Riley had earlier in the week.
Finally, Sunday p.m. about 8 he said, "I'm finally starting to feel almost normal, though I have no idea what happened to Saturday." (Here's a hint -- you moved from the bed to the chair and back to the bed and there was a lot of snoring involved). So the poor guy completely lost a weekend.
Monday morning, off he trudged to work to start his week hopefully healthier than he ended the previous one. Readying the all-important coffee, he begins to fill the pot with water. He finally glances down into the chamber to see how much more water he needs to add -- and sees a lizard, doing the backstroke (actually, it was swimming right-side up, and very much alive). Ew. Then he begins to speculate how long the chamber of the coffee pot has been the lizard's home. And the heeby-jeebies are in full force epidemic.
I am generally not a "woe are Mondays" kind of person (though I've had my moments) but that one should take the cake for quite a while.
