I’ve been home, sick as a pup all week (finally back to work today—wobbly, but, like a Weeble, I trust I shall not fall down).
Anyway, while I was curled up on the floor feeling sorry for myself, I thought, “Jeez, my temp must be up to 103º, the way I feel,” so I got out the thermom—and it read 96º, much to my chagrin. What the hell did that mean? Was I dead? In shock? Or am I just the chilly bitch everyone accuses me of being?
No, I had not been drinking anything cool, by the way . . .