As I fumbled with Ang's grocery list while I hacked up what's left of my right lung, I was picking out, per her instructions, 6 packages of ground beef that was supposedly on sale. Mind you, I look at going to the grocery store about one level above the dentist, and that was before the idiot behind me had the nerve to say "Do I need to get in front of you to make sure there is some meat left for the rest of us?"
How did I arrive at this spot, on 2:50 this afternoon, contemplating hitting this dink upside the head with 1.3 pounds of red meat? We need to back up about a week.
Ever since last Saturday, I've felt like I just went 10 rounds with Brock Lesnar; aching, sore, chills, and a persistent cough that had me begging for death sometime around Thursday afternoon. Being a man, I came to the completely rational conclusion that it would just go away on it's own when it was good and ready and I'd just deal with it.
That particular way to address the problem came to an abrupt end at about 3 this morning when Ang woke me up by sticking her finger in my chest and telling me "You're snoring and that cough is about to drive me insane. You're going to the doctor tomorrow and don't you dare say no."
So I went, all the while convinced they were going to tell me I had a cold and there was nothing they could do and to drink plenty of fluids, blah blah blah and it's run it's course. I was almost pleasantly surprised when the nice Doctor lady told me I had bronchitis, which partly relieved me because in the back of my mind I've got visions in H1N1 rattling around inside my head.
In a surprising lack of good judgement, I'd agreed to run some errands and pick up a few things for Ang while I was out, which is how we come full circle to me, some ground beef, and a lady ,3 seconds away from getting a rib roast upside her head.
Summoning some force inside me I didn't know I had, I calmly turned and said "This is the last one. Although maybe you should have gotten here first."
Good will to all men, and peace on earth.
I hope she burns her stupid Christmas Turkey.
Can you tell I get a little irritable on antibiotics?
Surrender the Farmhouse Sink
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