Brett came home from work yesterday all coughy, drippy, achey, whiney, shivery, groggy, and sneezy--all seven dwarfs of sickness. He didn't look good. He originally claimed it was because he forgot to take his allergy medicine that morning, but I doubted it. He had sinus infection written all over his chapped face.
He left for AWANA, I left for volleyball, and he was even sicker when we reunited late last night. I offered to sleep in the guest room or on the couch so he could get some good sleep (and so I could be less exposed to his germs), but he insisted I stayed with him.
So this morning, the day of the biggest event of my career, I feel horrible. My throat is closing and my nose is barely letting air inside. I stopped at Casey's on my way to work to pick up two pints of orange juice to try to fend off this ridiculous illness.
Tomorrow. I can call in sick tomorrow. But today I have to be on top of my game. I have keynote speakers to tend to, a luncheon to photograph, and an entire program to manage.
And of course, Brett is nicely snuggled in a warm bed, sleeping the day away, totally oblivious to the fact in a few hours I'm going to mingling with high-powered execs and schmoozing with legislatures...while trying to keep the snot inside my nose and my voice from sounding like a 75-year-old smoker.
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