We made it back to Paradise in some order. That is if you count the fact that the RT and I would have been first in line for any offer of a head transplant so full of goop and germs ours were we wondered if we could even survive the flight. Have you ever been on an airplane with a head cold? I have vivid memories of pain in my ears that rivaled that of childbirth. But Nyquil tabs and Halls cough drops actually did the job. Sleep, incredible pressure just before we landed, and delirious staring at the RT mess around with the Paint software on the MoH’s laptop. It is now his screen saver, lucky dude. I’d share, but I left my camera in VA.
The MoH kicks into doctor mode whenever we go on long flights, so we drank that stuff the school teacher made up before we even left Paradise. You know, that fizzy stuff that tastes like bad citrus soda? Feh. The woman that was hacking and snooting in the row across from us must have had our names written on her microbes. The US Postal Service should know about her. The RT was the first victim, and I succumbed immediately afterwards. By Christmas evening, we would have qualified for a balloon gig in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.
Staying up until the wee hours of several nights with foolishness, revelry, and a pagan bonfire thrown in for good measure sealed the deal.
I’m sick.
Like a dog. 
Okay, so I’m really just laying on the couch with my dog watching one inane commercial after another while overdosing on DIY television. What is up with the guy selling that slice-o-matic thing who YELLS in every commercial he’s in? Get out the hook for gawdsake. And the lady who used to do the “I’ve fallen and can’t get up” commercials? I swear she’s all babed up in the new ones. How convincing will that be? Sheesh.
The RT and I have been oozing around the house since our return last night peering through red-rimmed, slit eyes and talking only when necessary with gravely voices. The RT has been spared the achy, stingy Grand Canyon of a throat ache that I have, so he’s had some time to mess with his new computer, practice a few chords on his brand spankin’ new guitar that Santa brought and the two big boys unwrapped for him in a family iChat session on Christmas Day and doncha just love technology?
So here I am, filling your day with merriness.
I’m off to bed armed with several chick flicks I’ve seen a million times.
That should do it.
See you soon.
Promise.
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