I’m sitting in a McDonald’s, fighting the urge to start coughing because I’m afraid I’ll become a pariah among all of the other parents here in the play area. I’m trying to enjoy a reprieve from the sick house (my house) that I’ve been a prisoner of for the last week, victim of one of those late winter viruses that holds on to its host like there’s no tomorrow, trying in vain to survive the coming warm weather. It’s been a few years since I’ve had one of these monsters invade me, and I was enjoying that break, thank you very much. The Kid, my 4 year old son, is still coughing here and there, but a coughing kid doesn’t seem to draw the scrutiny a coughing parent does. If I cough I know the thoughts flying through others’ minds will include the ever present, “She should *know better*!”
And yes, I do, but at the same time when it’s between starting to scream and pulling my hair out because I can’t take the white walls one. second. longer., and spreading the plague, I’ll spread the plague in a heartbeat. Yet I’m still trying to avoid spreading it because it is a particularly evil virus this time around, so I’m sitting here having fantasies of running to the bathroom to have a coughing fit.
My wants are simple, what can I say?
And this, dear reader, is my introduction.