There’s something about Nationally Recognized Holidays that makes my family highly susceptible to communicable diseases, viruses, bugs or essentially any other super germ that causes flu-like symptoms including but not limited to cramping, cold sweats, projectile vomiting, projectile diarrhea, projectile diarrhea while you are projectile vomiting (the effect comparable to stamping on a half-dozen mustard packets) dry heaving, dizziness, sudden hair loss followed by sudden hair growth, lack of muscle control, and the Jimmy Feet (when I’m sick I constantly rub my feet back and forth until my socks are on backwards; seriously)
The last three Christmases have in fact been marred by one or all of us contracting some form of influenza or strain of the Black Plague. The worst occurred when Jack was two and my parents had to take Jack to their house for a day while Kathleen and I writhed on the living room floor taking turns to crawl to the kitchen to fetch ice pops, Jell-O and Pedialight. It got so bad at one point that the ESPN produced The Dale Earnhardt Story came on the television and we were both too sick to change the channel. Any vomiting during that 2-hour stretch I still attest was the movie’s fault.
As today is Thanksgiving, a Nationally Recognized Holiday, one of us was inevitably going to lose the influenza lottery and this holiday it was me. The morning was spent on the couch watching unforgivably awful lip syncing (and I know something about lip synching) and half-hearted Broadway musical performances while questioning the choice of sequined spandex uniforms on nearly all of the Color Guard flag bearers. Thankfully, while Adam took a long nap and Kathleen played with Jack I slept and did the Jimmy feet until it was time to go to my parents for dinner.
It wasn’t pretty and I probably should have stayed home, but I limped through the festivities without any projectile leaving my body through any orifice and am now home cursing there are no sick days, floating holidays or get out of jail free cards for GoShoYoFro.
Alright, I suddenly feel like a mustard packet under someone’s heel and my socks are on backwards. Happy Thanksgiving to all of you, can someone get me an ice pop and put the TV on ESPN?