Poor Timing

I am sick today. My head is a throbbing ball of mucous, my eyes burn from fever. I am aching in every joint and just want to stay under a blanket on the sofa.

This is poor timing, as tonight I have plans to have dinner with Nikola. He is very understanding when I call to postpone, but I feel terrible about it all the same.

“It’s far from the world’s end,” he says. “We will go in a couple of days. I’m certain they will still be serving food to people in restaurants after you are feeling better.”

“But I wanted to go tonight,” I say. “I’m feeling very whiny about the whole thing. I hate rescheduling.”

“Then I will bring you dinner and we will have a meal at your sick bed. It will be very romantic.”

“I don’t want to make you sick too.”

“I have a strong Serbian constitution. I think I will survive. Unless it’s cholera. You don’t think it’s cholera, is it?”

“I’m fairly sure it’s not cholera.”

“In that case, I will be over at seven. I will surprise you with something delicious. We will make the best of your bad health.”

“Hopefully I won’t die by then,” I say.

“If you do,” he says, “I will mourn your passing after I finish eating the delicious meal I will be providing.”

“At least your priorities are in the right place.”

“I am a growing boy. Nutrition is very important. There is always time for grief later.”

I’m not sure if I’m supposed to dress up for a sick date or not. This is uncharted territory for me.

I should at least perhaps bathe.

I am still a civilized woman, after all.

Even if I am full of snot.

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  1. Clearly some comfortably indulgent jammies are just the thing, my dear.

    And a Serbian for dessert.

  2. Oh, poor you! Hope you feel better immediately, and that dinner with Nikola was very therapeutic.

  3. I hope this note finds you feeling much better, Kameko.


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