Washin' My Hands and Sneezin' in My Sleeve

I totally thought I had swyne flu today. (And yes, I totally know that's not how you spell it. But I live in America now, and it's a safe bet that Big Brother is watching and tracking bloggers that refer to possible outbreaks and, if they found out I had it, there'd be guys with hazmat suits on my doorstep and then it would be all plastic tunnels and E.T.-phone-home, and the basket on my bike is just not that big.)

[Aside: no. I'm not delirious from my bet-it's-swyne-flu at all.]

But I did have other symptoms today:

* Aching body (which had nothing to do with yesterday's yoga class)

* Headache (entirely unrelated to the Stephen-King-sponsored sleeplessness of late)

* Meager appetite (last night's late-hour chips and dip? Coincidence, I say)

Felt pretty grody when I got home, so I betook myself to bed and had a nap and, hey, presto, my symtpoms were gone. So you can call off the hazmat guys.

But I do need to acknowledge The Husband, who has tremendous self-preservation instincts loves me so much and knows it's best to let sleeping wives lie cared enough to get supper for the kids while I slumbered and then entertained them with YouTube versions of "Thriller." (Did you know there's one of 1500 Cambodian prison inmates dancing? Awesome.)

I tell ya - who needs chicken soup when they've got such a one?