This morning the confessions are not as serious as before: I have not forgotten Archaeologist Husband’s birthday or left him alone for weeks and weeks. No, I just lie on the sofa getting some relief out of a mug of Lemsip and wondering why I always feel rubbish when I have a cold. Even if I only have fever, if I try to work until the afternoon. Which I did not even try to do yesterday when I realized in the morning that everything hurts.
No, this morning I have been watching Archaeologist Husband to take care of laundry, while I managed to get two pieces of clothing into the washing basket. I have stumbled over his swiping handywork in order to get to kitchen to have some breakfast. I have been whingeing about my ailments while he has popped to the shop to get milk and essentials.
Is this is a wife’s answer to a man flue. Sadly, no. I have a proper cold, one of those that puzzlingly make your teeth ache alongside your throat, eyes, shoulders, sinuses, neck and head. Even if my nose is blocked, I can feel the sweet, sickening smell of Number One Son’s Angry Bird Sweets. Archaeologist Husband was dreaming of having a partner in clearing out the house when I returned, but I have done my dead-tired-and-picking-up-a-virus-that-made-son’s-nose-lightly-run-and-it-hit-like-a-sledgehammer act. Now he hopes that at least I will find a job. But I think about that next week. Now I have to stop and put my head on the pillow again... And let Archaeologist Husband to take Number One Son to the Finnish Saturday School!
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