Still sick, and coughing quite a bit. To combat the chills, I've taken to wearing some old pajamas passed on to me by hubby's grandma. They are big and shapeless, and a shade of Pepto-Bismol pink that's better imagined than described (or seen, for that matter). When I catch a fleeting glimpse of myself in the mirror, my brain involuntarily starts playing, "Look out, look out, pink elephant on parade, here she comes, hippety-hoppety..."
Being sick reminds me of a story about our old family doctor. For reasons it would take too long to explain here, we used to call him Doctor Fred, although that's not his real name. Not only was he our family's doctor, but he also looked after my aunt and uncle's family, who lived in the town next door. Doctor Fred had a calm, placid bedside manner that masked a rather wicked sense of humor.
One day, when my sister Julie was in the doctor's office, Doctor Fred came in to see her. He was carrying with him a huge, evil-looking syringe filled with some sort of gloopy reddish fluid -- a novelty item. He convinced Julie to take the syringe, walk into the next exam room, and surprise the person waiting in there.
Mom says you could hear poor David screaming all the way out in the parking lot.
I love Doctor Fred.