Why do I persist in thinking, "Man, if I had to stay home sick, I'd get all kinds of knitting time in!"? No. When I am sick I feel far too crappy to do anything other than lie there in a little ball of misery until the illness gives up in boredom and goes to find someone else to torment.
I woke up yesterday morning feeling like I'd been beaten all night with a sack of oranges. I asked my sweetie, "Why, WHY did you beat me all night with a sack of oranges?" He said, "Well, you've gotta tenderize 'em somehow."
Turns out I was coming down with a nasty little stomach virus that has left me fetal on the couch for almost two days straight. It's been awesome. I'm mostly vertical now, which is new and exciting.
All this illness has given me time to ponder the great mysteries of our world. For instance: why do they make thermometers shaped like that? You have to hold them in place with your hand or they squirt violently from your mouth and hit your reflection in the bathroom mirror. They should make some sort of flange or grippy part that you can hold with your teeth so you can do something useful while finding out if you have an actual reason for feeling like death. I complained about this to my sweetie, who helpfully explained, "That's so they fit better in your butt."
Um, no. "This is an ORAL thermometer."
"That's what you think!"
"It's an ORAL THERMOMETER, dammit!"
"Oh, no! Have I been using it wrong? I'm so sorry!" Then he collapsed into giggles while I glared and told him, "I don't love you enough to lick your butthole." He's still giggling now.
One day my revenge will come. One day . . .