Just Shoot Me

T’s daughter, Squirt, is cut from a rare cloth. She is a child below the age of 14 that I actually like. No excessively inane questions, and while she has more energy than the energizer bunny on double esspresso and hooked up to a car battery, she’s relatively calm under most circumstances… and when she’s not, you can just dump her in front of a computer with The Sims 2 loaded on it, and just ignore her (set it and forget it). Still, there is one thing about 8 year olds that I had forgotten, much to my chagrin.

They’re veritable germ repositories.

Not only do children carry multitudes of infectious disease, but many of their hygenic practices leave much to be desired, causing them to be harbingers of contagious desolation. Obviously you’ve noticed that children get sick in clusters, with only a few remaining immune, who are really just incubators for a more virulent mutant variant of said disease.

The reason I get into this point is that I have contracted the flu from said 8 year old. My sinuses feel as though someone inflated one of those elongated balloons that clowns use to make giraffes in them. The way my nose is running, you’d think it was going for the gold in Athens. And to top it off, I’m now a Neanderthal mouth breather! I take Dayquil, and I see pink elephants, eating donuts, being chased by vorpal bunnies in polka-dotted sweater vests (great stuff). I have an apparent resistance to Nyquil, as it has yet to stop one sniffle, sneeze, cough, ache, or stuffy head. I’m miserable… Misery loves company, so I’m going to work to see who I can infect.

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