In an act of sheer heroism, Hubs drove himself to the drugstore on Super Bowl Sunday, while I was at home, crying softly in the bathtub because OH MY WORD! I DIDN’T FEEL GOOD! JUST DIDN’T FEEL GOOD!, and he came home with a little number that’s only sold behind the counter. Apparently Hubs flashed his driver’s license to the pharmacist, promised not to make meth in a pot on his stovetop at home, signed his name and brought home a little box of Mucinex-Something-Something-Powerful-Something, and THAT, people, changed the score of the game.
Sixty minutes after ingesting the first pill yesterday afternoon, the score became Mama: 8, Sinus Infection: 5,962.
And those first little eight points that the Mucinex tossed up onto the scoreboard for me completely changed my life, because I had a faint stream of oxygen begin to channel itself in through my left nostril, which was saying something, because both nostrils had previously been sealed off tighter than an Egyptian tomb.
I had to laugh when Hubs said he’d promised not to use the Mucinex to cook meth in our kitchen because COOKING IS NOT OUR FAVORITE PAST TIME! And, people! All the chemistry and calculations that you’d have to know to get your illegal potion just right and NOT blow up your kitchen would overwhelm me to the point of a Scarlet O’Hara swoon. I’d throw in the towel and give up before I ever produced a batch of anything even resembling meth.
By the time the Super Bowl wrapped itself up last night, with Hubs grinning from ear to ear, simply because he was thrilled that somebody (ANYBODY! EVEN GREEN BAY!) beat the Steelers, I had a tiny stream of air being inhaled AND exhaled from both nasal passages, and that was nothing short of a TOTAL VICTORY IN JESUS AND HIS GIFT OF MUCINEX TO HIS PEOPLE!
This morning, I stumbled out of bed feeling exactly like I’d been beaten like that poorly-behaved circus squirrel of yesterday, and I held off ingesting the Mucinex for a bit, because I HAD AN APPOINTMENT WITH THE HAIR WIZARD! And really, all the blonde hairs that were growing in on the top of my head needed to be hit with a paintbrush laden with chocolate brown in the very worst way imaginable, and I wasn’t about to miss my scheduled time slot.
In the words of Ouiser Boudreaux in Steel Magnolias, “Get your roots done!”
All right then! I did!
I stumbled around, unable to breathe all morning, while I faced a house that looked exactly like a frat party had taken place in it. Because I spent the entire weekend alternating between time in the bathtub and time beneath a thick blanket in front of the television set, I wasn’t up to oversee the general running of the house, and the dishes piled up on the counters, until they looked like a full-on game of Jenga.
And the floors? I shudder to even admit out loud that the vacuum cleaner had been on a sabbatical for the last couple of weeks, and the debris on our floors made barefoot crossings rather treacherous.
So, people, I cleaned. I cleaned with Clorox; I cleaned with Lysol; I cleaned with stainless steel cleaner. I used Tide and Windex and the vacuum cleaner and the scrub brush for the toilets. And then, two hours out from my hair appointment, I devoured the powerful, point-scoring Mucinex, so that I would be ON TOP OF MY GAME when it came time to sit in the chair and have the paint applied to my scalp. I wanted to be able to breathe for my appointment, so that my stylist didn’t say, “Mama, you need to take that Man Cold Hubs gave you and get out of my salon!”
And, people, I’m pretty sure I carried off an Oscar-worthy performance as I PRETENDED to be well, all in the name of hair glory and not being booted out of the salon for having entirely too many germs in my handbag, but now I am utterly exhausted. Even Julia Roberts gets worn out on a good day.
And really? I think I’ll call it a night now, because as Truvy said in Steel Magnolias, “When it comes to pain and suffering, she’s right up there with Elizabeth Taylor.”
People, the Man Cold has provided me with enough pain and suffering to surpass Liz tonight. She has nothing on me when it comes to pain and suffering!