I'm sicker than you are...

So you haven't heard from me in a while because, like the rest of the country, I've been on my deathbed. From strep to bronchitis, I've had it all and the best part about it is...it started with my husband. He got it first, then I got it and now, our collective illnesses have sparked, well, a competition of sorts. Being sick at the same time isn't at all like having one person in the relationship who's healthy enough to take care of the other person who's down for the count. When two people in a relationship are sick, it becomes "the survival of the sickest"-- scrambling for the title of "who's got it worse" seems to be what's at hand. The person who's sicker doesn't have to clean up the dishes, fold the laundry or replace the toilet paper...the person who's well is in charge of piling up the dirty kleenexes, making the tea, and all but wiping their partner's ass. In times like these, Mike and I each need a husband and a wife. You know, a nice older couple who can move in with us and cater to our needs as we indulge ourselves in Law and Order re-runs and overly salty chicken soup. They can take messages for us, go to the pharmacy and alleviate any concern over who used the last tissue. Wouldn't that be nice? Instead, it's...

ME: "Honey, can you please hand me the remote?"

MIKE: "Why can't you get it?"

ME: "Because me head feels like there's an anvil sitting on top of it. Please...just...hand...it...to...me."

MIKE: "And you think that it's easy to lift my arm? I can barely breathe let alone sit up."

ME: "Well, my nose is so stuffy that I've gone through five boxes of Kleenex in the past three days and if I even get up to go to the bathroom, my heartrate soars and I almost pass out."

MIKE: "I basically DID pass out on the toilet this morning...that's how sick I am."

Needless to say, the conversation ended with...

ME: "Hand me the f-ing REEEEMOOOOOOTTTTEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!"

MIKE: "Fine."

But we couldn't go on like this forever. Someone would have to win eventually and the other would be resigned to being the caretaker. As our days on the couch wore on, phone calls remained unanswered, dirty underwear formed a leaning tower of Pisa on top of our hamper, and every single cup in the cabinet was sitting on our kitchen counter. Staring at the mess, Mike and I started to cough. We hacked and wheezed our way to the bathroom--he took the master bathroom and I the guest bathroom for the most thrilling activity of the day, hocking loogie time. 

MIKE: "Oh my god!!!!!!!! You've got  to see this!"

ME: "No. You've got to see THIS!"

It was the time of reckoning. We met in the hallway, each with our fists holding a prized kleenex that sheltered THE LOOGIE TO BEAT ALL LOOGIES. We cradled our tissues the way you might a baby chick and revealed their contents.

MIKE: "Mine's flourescent green."

ME: "You think that's bad? Just wait."

And there it was. KHAKI. A khaki that was so, ironically, unnatural looking that it seemed a color that could be produced only at the paint store--it might have been a nice tone for the kitchen, actually.

MIKE: "Oh. That's f-ing disgusting. That's....how is that even possible?"

ME: "I win"

MIKE: "Yes you do."

The next day, he was almost better and I was on my way to round 2 of antibiotics, inhalers and God knows what. 

MIKE: "I don't think I've ever SEEN you this sick. It's horrible."

I smiled.

ME: "Can you please hand me the remote?"

MIKE: "No problem."

I had a husband to hand me the remote, to bring in the mail and to answer the phone. Would the laundry get done or the dishes put away? No. Of course not. But at least I had my remote. 

Comments

[Maddie L]

Hey Alexis, it's maddie, this is SO FUNNy