So, my Southwest Airlines cold has turned into one nasty, funky infection involving tonsils, blisters, sores and other such nonsense. To put in the words of my young, cute and I-swear-he flirts-with-me doctor, “Ewww, that’s just nasty.”
Needless to say, I have been a tad under the weather.
As with anything in life -- for every down, there is an up. In this case, there were two, almost-fun benefits.
A) I couldn’t talk for three days. Which translates: I couldn’t nag my hubby for three whole days. (He says he missed talking to me, but secretly I know he reveled in the nag-free environment.)
And 2) I met a great new friend whom I have dubbed Darvy.
Part of my bigger issue this week involved a lot of pain in my throat. Unfortunately, you have to swallow sometimes. (Insert appropriate blow-job joke here.) And when you’re ill, drinking water is about the only thing appetizing.
To combat the pain, thereby speeding my recovery (Insert hero music here.) he prescribed Darvocet.
This is a good drug.
I started with one tablet. I had that warm, fuzzy-edged feeling that you get when you’ve had a few drinks but you’re not quite drunk.
Pleasant. Enjoyable, even. Let’s try two.
Thankfully I was laying down the second time Darvy visited.
If you’ve ever experienced a nice hit of Nyqil, you’ve had this feeling. One minute, you’re fine. Laying in bed reading the latest John Berendt novel.
Suddenly, you notice that you’ve read two pages and have no recollection of what you’ve read.
"Oh, I’m just tired", you muse. Turn off the light, try to roll over and you realize your legs have become warm wooden logs, and who needs to turn over. Let’s just lay here and smile.
The heaviness moves up your hips, curves along your spine. Deep breath, and then it reaches up to your cheeks -- smiling is over – close your eyes and float.
FART!
What the fuck?!
Cat leaps from the bed as if electrocuted.
Damn, I was so relaxed, I even let “that” muscle ease up.
Fucking Darvy.
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