This Is Me Not Writing About Being Sick; This Is Me Writing About Being an Idiot
January 30, 2013
I took a couple half-hearted stabs at blogging yesterday — probably out of some pseudoephedrine-fueled psychosis where I believed I could make being sick "funny" — but I kept coughing mid-sentence and losing my train of thought, so all my attempts fizzled out and either became First World Whinefests or kind of gross, full of overshare-y details like what it's like to blow your nose and have stuff come out your tear ducts.
(See? Aren't you glad I spared you that one?)
By late afternoon I decided I felt a little bit better and that leaving the house sounded like a nice idea. Putting on pants, even! The sun was shining! It was a beautiful day and I AM SO HOPPED UP ON ADVIL RIGHT NOW WHEEEE.
So I took Noah to karate. Minutes after we arrived, I realized my phone (and thus my sole source of entertainment, because no offense, Precious Child o' Mine, but watching the 3,204,280th game of karate dodgeball is no longer the thrill it once was) had died. I also realized that my child was coughing. And sneezing. And sniffling. Profusely.
OH COME ON.
He'd been completely healthy all of five minutes prior in the car, but apparently managed to come down with cold #4,293 somewhere in the parking lot.
His symptoms were obvious enough that the other parents in the seats ahead of me were shifting around uncomfortably and side-eying each other, clearly trying to figure out who the hell brought the contagious diseased child to class.
Now, a normal, thinking human being would probably just get her kid's attention and leave, since obviously a regrettable — yet easily correctable — mistake had been made.
But you know, I'd put on paaaaaants.
So instead, I also turned around, like, who the hell?
(Note: THIS IS WHY I DYE MY HAIR RED. PLAUSIBLE GENETIC DENIABILITY.)
Of course, this move would have been much smoother if I 1) hadn't been sitting in the back row, and 2) didn't start having a coughing fit right at that moment.
Being an expert in How To Adult, however, I had an escape plan ready to go before anybody could give me a dirty look: FAKE PHONE CALL.
My phone was dead, but I pulled it out, scowled at the imaginary called ID and pretended to answer it while getting up and heading out the door, like a POLITE cell phone user who was not at all the sort to show up and hack germs and parasites all over innocent people.
Another mother and her child were just coming in as my fake phone call and I were exiting, and...I froze.
The obvious script "Oh hi yeah hang on I'm at karate let me step outside blah blah" flew out of my head, and I stood there blocking the door like an moron, with my mouth hanging open and my completely dead phone by my ear while this random woman stared at me, possibly wondering if I was having some kind of neurological incident.
"Oh hey..." I started, which only made the encounter more awkward, since NOW she probably thought I was talking to her instead of my fake phone call.
In a panic, yet committed to this stupid pointless charade that nobody else was probably even paying attention to until I went and turned it into a thing, I blurted out the first name that popped into my brain.
SHE'S PROBABLY ASKING WHAT SONGS I THINK SHE SHOULD SING AT HALFTIME THIS WEEKEND, OR WHETHER OR NOT SHE SHOULD CLOTH DIAPER BLUE IVY. YOU KNOW, THE USUAL DRAMZ.
At this point the other mother was clearly aware that she was wasting precious seconds on a crazy person and stepped aside so I could leave. Which I did. With my phone still glued to my ear, where it remained until I was fully out of view from the glass-fronted karate studio. Because BEYONCÉ.
I wandered over to a coffee shop and ordered a Mortification Tea for myself and a cookie for Noah. Which I waved through the glass windows at the end of class as bait because don't make me go back in there. It's not safe. I can't be trusted. Put on your shoes and let's go, omg.
The good news is that I actually am feeling better today! The bad news is that several of the boys are now sick with a completely different cold that I will probably get, and also that I have no idea whether the Destiny's Child reunion rumors are true or not. Dammit Bey, I thought we were close!