Sunday, March 9, 2008

Sunday Supper: Cancelled

We are sick puppies. The Ranger with the flu, me with a cold. Our romance has come to this:

"Hon, I feel really bad." The Ranger is lying on the sofa squeezing Oscar, our stuffed sea otter, and watching golf. That's how I know he must be sick. ESPN golf.
"I know you're sick, sweetie. Try and sleep."
"Do I look pale? I feel pale."
"Yes, honey, you're pale. Drink some water. Try and sleep."
"I don't think I can eat anything."
"Just drink some water then. Stay hydrated."
"Well, maybe a banana. Can you get me a banana?"
"Sure, I'll get you a banana. Anything else?"
"Can you feel my forehead? I bet I have a fever."
"Hon, I already felt your forehead. Twice. You don't have a fever."
"But I feel so pale. Except for the fever."
"You don't have a fever. You're just warm from all the blankets."
"Can you slice the banana and put it on toast. Maybe some butter, but not too much."
"Anything else?"
"Just feel my forehead. I swear I have a fever."

And that's when I smothered him with a pillow.

1 comment:

Kylita said...

On TV a few minutes ago, I listened to Procol Harem from PBS "British Beat" do "Whiter Shade of Pale" ... but how does one "feel pale"? Pinch his cheeks (on his face, dearie) and give him a hot water bottle wrapped in a towel ... and snuggle in for the night. I sure hope you both feel lots better soon! I'd bring you hot chicken broth with cayenne if I lived closer ^;^
Hugs xoxo