I guess I'm a bit similar to a man when it comes to illness; I don't handle it very well and I feel extremely sorry for myself. There are at least three neccessaties in my life when I'm ill; 1. Mum, and any other slaves available at the time, 2. Sympathy, 3.Werthers Originals. My taste buds watch in horror as those bacteria particles jump into my mouth, and so sound the alarm in my brain to stock up on sucky sweets. After the helplessness comes the bitterness. I want to hunt down the person who infected me, in the same nature as Arnie going after Predator in the jungle, and sneeze into their mouth. I think this is a completely suitable form of revenge; you breathe in my direction with your dirty germ breath and you may as well just sneeze in my mouth. Tit for tat!
When people develop a cold or throat virus we should instantly alert environmental health and have the sick person quarantined in an isolated location, like say - the moon, far away from healthy people. At the very least we should have our Managers whipped and humiliated in public for allowing sick people into work to spread their filth! Last night I sneezed so much I feared my head would crack like a walnut. I think the family of bacteria nesting inside my immune system were playing a cruel prank on me. Every time they sensed my head lying down on the pillow they gave the signal to ignite a violent sneeze. Bastards. Oh well, who needs sleep anyway? It just gives me more time to catch up on late night trash tv, which becomes all the more interesting when you're drugged up on paracetamol and phenylephrine.
My taste buds always seem to take a hike when I have a cold. The only thing that tastes vaguely normal is black coffee. I've drunk so much coffee this week I swear if you cut me I'll bleed Millicano. In fact, I should really get them to sponsor my blog. On the plus side having a cold is a great excuse to stay in my pyjamas, eat junk and watch films all day. I just hope I manage to give it to someone else outside of this house in time for Christmas, I was ill last year so another germ-filled Christmas would be totally unfair. I have a pub, eggnog, and 500 tins of Celebrations with my name on them. Yesterday I spent all afternoon in bed feeling sorry for myself. I looked like a bitter, depressed, red-nosed Miss Haversham, surrounded by empty sweet packets and empty cups of Millicano (sponsor me dammit!!!).
Still, on the bright side of things I could always fill in for Rudolph if he fancies a year off. Father Christmas can rely on me! Just as long as the fat bastard keeps away from my Werthers originals.
