I really don’t think we talk enough about snot. That’s by way of a warning that if you don’t actually WANT to talk about snot, I highly recommend you head over to Motherlode (http://parenting.blogs.nytimes.com/), where I am not writing about snot, and I would love to see you (I am particularly proud of today’s post: http://parenting.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/10/12/putting-down-the-ipad-so-my-kids-can-see-me-read/ ).
But this is about snot.
After a week and a half of no exercise, thanks to the kind of sinus infection that causes people to back away, shaking their heads, and suggest that you should have stayed home. After about half an hour of various minor upside-downnesses (not headstands, I do not do that kind of yoga), I found that I had to blow my nose. But I was prepared. I grabbed my Kleenex and…
Ok, I find that I am actually not prepared to describe the result to you. Suffice it say that one Kleenex was insufficient, and that I had to step out for a moment, and that this was some serious snot. You wouldn’t be surprised to see this stuff oozing from the nose of a mummy, say, or a particularly nasty troll.
At the time I felt much better. But it didn’t last. I still urgled and coughed and blatted and ahhemmed all day, although never with such spectacular results. Six days of antibiotics, and I am STILL SICK. Not as sick, but unmistakably, could you please cover your face when you cough and maybe just go eat over there, sick.
I am sick of being sick. Assuming I ever get better, I am considering just laying in a big store of food and refusing to come out of my office all winter. Or maybe adopting a Michael Jackson stance on germs. Sending the kids to school in hazmat suits. Something.