Taking care of laid-up people is not a skill of mine. Mom and I have long agreed that one pocket of hell must be an overcrowded childcare center. Another is a DMV waiting room and I am now proclaiming the presence of the Obstinately Ill to be another. It's one thing to be sick. But when they whine about it...
I've felt bad for over year and have I complained? (I'm so glad I can't hear you scoffing)
I hate angry sick people. I already see you as a threatening green blob, oozing from room to room, leaving behind a germy gom that no amount of disinfectants can wipe away. Your lifeless, balled up, soggy tissues litter my space. Your mugs and soup bowls pile up, towering over the stacks of magazines you've sneezed into without second thought. You haven't changed your clothes in days. What nerve you have to be short with me. The servant and bystander.
I say this all in preparation for the weekend. Ellen is having some grafting done tomorrow. She's got the flat gums. We all have the flat gums. Mom and I both had our flat gums grafted. Sure, it's not fun but you do get to eat Jello for a week. I have a feeling that lil Bells is going to milk this one. I'm beyond pleased that I have a concert to attend tomorrow night thus excusing me from the Ellen night shift. But the weekend, thats when the dramatic blinking and muttering about pain will begin. She's going to need soup and mushy foods. She'll need lots of liquids and cotton balls. I'm already disgusted.
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