Sniffle

I'm writing this on Friday night, and on any normal Friday night instead of sitting in front of the computer writing one of my stupid little stories, I would be at Sidelines bar sucking down vodka cocktails. But I am not there, I am at home doing Nyquil shots. It seems that late Wednesday evening some kind of deadly germ worked it's way into my head and turned it into a waterlogged sponge that is dripping, no gushing, liquid from every orifice. To my left, on the desk, is a pile of handkerchiefs that I have blown my brains into. As each hanky gets used up, my face seems to explode all the more, requiring an ever increasing need for the little cotton squares. Thank god Mark always gets me a dozen or so as a Christmas present each year.

As I sit here looking at the computer screen, made blurry from peering through my mucus and tears, I wonder what asshole gave me this cold? Looking back, I don't think it was the dogs I walk at Abandoned Pet Rescue. Dogs don't pass cold germs to humans, at least I hope not because I get down and dirty with those little fur balls, and more than once I got a face full of dog slobber. No, I think it happened last Sunday, a week ago, when I went to a memorial service for an old friend. I'm not sure which person it was who passed the germ on to me, but I do remember a certain sweaty, fat headed fellow, who grabbed me when he walked in, and gave me a big kiss hello. I hate kisses, and this one was of particular creepiness because his skin was clammy, and even though I tried to turn my head, and catch the kiss on my cheek, he managed to give me the big lip smack. Oh well, it isn't so bad. It seems that the Nyquil like product I've been slugging down is something like ten percent alcohol. The only problem is, it tastes like shit.