Mark and I went to Chicago to attend a wedding. We stayed for eight days, eight rather uneventful days. Other than fighting for the armrest with the fat man sitting next to me, I cannot complain about the flight to Chicago. We even landed first class seats on the way home. That was sweet. Mark did not end up in the emergency room this time and didn't spend one day in the hospital. He also didn't spend hours shopping. One book, two dog toys, and a sack of spices from the spice store are all that he bought. There was none of the drama of figuring out how to get a hundred pounds of crap into a fifty pound suitcase. We went to the theater while we were there, and saw Motown the Musical. We had good seats, there was no asshole sitting next to me singing along like there was at Jersey Boys, and I didn't fall asleep during it. So that's a good thing. One thing that did distract me during Motown were the deaf interpreters standing down next to the stage. Am I wrong, but deaf people cannot hear music, can they? None the less, there they were frantically gesticulating and signaling along with the music. So did anything go wrong on our trip to Chicago? Of course it did, and I wrote everything down on a piece of scrap paper, that when I find it will jar some of those things back into my memory and I'll write about them. The one thing I know for sure is that I got a horrific flu like cold just two days before we left. Muscle aches, headaches, coughing, hacking up phlegm balls the size of macaroons, and swinging from cold and clammy to hot and sweaty. Possibly I have Ebola. We'll know for sure when all those other people from the first class cabin on our flight home come down with it.