Cough Cough

I always take it so personally when I get sick, as if it's a character flaw. If I had been stronger, I would have won. If I took better care of myself... Maybe that's because my mother always said that to me growing up. Anytime I got sick, "You should take better care of yourself." Hey, you know what, Mom? Sometimes the germs just win.

I'm not sure I can stay home from work two days in a row. Lying in bed is NOT something I do well, or maybe it's something I do too well. But please allow me to clarify in case anyone out there was confused. Lying around, and doing absolutely nothing worthwhile whatsoever does not, repeat NOT, fill the creative well, so to speak. No. More accurately, it drains the well, spits in it, throws in a dead baby bird and moons it just for spite.

Flashback: I'm in the bathroom of our LA hotel room putting on make-up while Bethie sits on the disinfected tile floor painting my toenails. We're running late. We're running late for what will turn out to be a rehearsal dinner for my mother's wedding. We don't know it's a rehearsal dinner because we don't yet know that the birthday party for my mother's fiance we flew in for is ACTUALLY a surprise wedding. (You'd think a mother might tell her only daughter, but you'd be wrong.) But the point of all of this is, not a gorgeous beach wedding complete with billowing white tents and tables in the sand, but that my dearest friend in all the world is painting MY toenails (my feet already in my sandals) so that I can finish getting ready for dinner. This is a true friend. The very same friend that yesterday brought me a care package of tiger lilies, orange pudding, orange sherbet and orange soda just because I was sick and orange is my favorite color.