My good foot hurts. But that’s not the worst of it. Caught a cold a few days back. Hacking cough makes my wife’s dog go to another room. But that’s not the worst of it. Twelve days (12) with the trots… the runs… the scoots… whatever. With no sign of the end.
I managed to read the complete collection of all Sarah Palin’s most lyrically written campaign speeches. Let’s just say I’ve spent a lot of time on the john. Not to get graphic, I like to be delicate, but Hurricane Katrina in sepia tones comes to mind. But that’s not the worst of it.
It gets worse. Finally, I drag my ass into the doctor’s office. The good-looking redhead is gone. I get the burly guy in plaid and he puts me on two different antibiotics. Two. Still got the shits. Still got the shits. Crap.
Weather turned cold so now my wife won’t let me use the hot tub before bed. Life can be so hard sometimes.
But that’s not the worst of it. These meds, wait for it, alcohol is strictly prohibited. Days later, I still have diarrhea, a word I can now spell by the way. Still pray despite two antibiotics I can make it to the mailbox and back in time. Days still later, I still can’t drink. No booze at all. Not even a beer. But that’s not the worst of it.
The worst of it is, now I am starting to get real cranky.
