Some time last week I caught a cold. It was simple at first, the sniffles, a tiny little ache in my throat, nothing too serious. I could get through it with a little Tylenol and tea.
And then all hell broke loose.
A monster of a flu/cold/flu surrounded me with its black cloak and called itself Evil Death. Evil Death breathed on me with coughing fits, a runny nose, inability to breath, sinus pain, and exhaustion. It plagued me with stomach pain, aches and chills, and dizziness.
So I did what anyone would do.
I called my mommy.
I cried about the horrible pain that was cutting through my sinuses, curled into a ball on my couch, watched 90210, and waited for death (with Kelly, Dylan, and Brenda).
I thought my cold would break around the weekend, while all of my friends were out making memories, having fun in the winter wonderland, snow pants on, hats bopping through the hills.
Evil Death came for more, it dragged me through the pits of hell (my bathroom) and back. I coughed until I couldn’t cough anymore, I cried because my eyes were running anyway, and I prayed for relief.
There will be NO relief for you!
Evil Death screamed at me, his fiery breath inches from my face, I couldn’t tell what it smelled like because I couldn’t smell or taste anything at that point.
So I ate melba toast.
And lost 6lbs.
Hey! You! Maybe Evil Death isn’t so bad after all! You can fit into those jeans you bought 4 months ago!
And look how sexy I am now!