The Mister is sick. 🙁 sad face (I have decided to start writing out my feelings for the emoticonly challenged)
It is a very rare occurrence for The Mister to be under the weather. He likes to brag that he mentally kicks any virus to the curb, and he’s quick to point out how much stronger he is than the sickness when I’m in the throws of sniffles and coughs. The other day, when The Mister crawled back into bed at 2 p.m, I knew that he was really ever not feeling so well. Immediately, a thought shot through my mind, “How is kicking that virus to curb working for you? You just need to get above it mentally.” My compassionate heart took control, though, and instead of being snarky, I tucked him and quietly closed the door.
Before you call me a nun and refer to me as Sister White Girl, I’ll confess. After all, who am I kidding? As soon as The Mister was looking a little less miserable, I stuck that philosophy of his squarely between his eyes. It felt good too, in an evil sort of way. But then, my compassionate heart took over again and I went out after dark to buy him more limes and honey for his tea.
The most annoying thing about this chest cold is at night time. The Mister can’t get comfortable. His body is wracked with fits of coughing, and in-between that he emits mournful whimpers of despair. He’s really ever not feeling so well. Last night was the worst. I had stacked the cards against myself by drinking many cupfuls of tea until the evening, which was a huge mistake. I was having difficulty falling asleep as it was, but then as soon as I was drifting off to sleep, a strange whimpering would come from the other side of the bed and startle me awake. We went through the cycle several times: drift off, whimper, startle awake, drift off, whimper, startle awake. It was so frustrating. Finally, not wanting to harbour any unnecessary bitterness towards the love of my life (he is, after all, feeling ever not so well, it’s not his fault), I slipped out of bed. I went to the living room and proceeded to play Diner Dash on Charlie’s handheld gaming device until 2:30 a.m. I’m getting really good at it, if I may say so myself (this is definitely something that I can put on my CV – “I have conquered several “expert” levels on Diner Dash”). My eyes were finally heavy enough to guarantee that no amount of sound would wake me up. I slept right through the prayer call 2 hours later.
Today, The Mister came in from work, looking weary. “Do you want me to make you some tea?” I asked sweetly. “No tea!” Okay, fine. No tea. Can I demand, “No coughing!” No? Fine. I love him anyway. Let’s hope that tonight is less fitful and more peaceful. The hoped-for 5 a.m. wake up call for the drive to the capital is going to be painful otherwise.