Cozy and The Creeping Crud

It's offical.  The score is Cozy - 0, Creeping Crud - 973.  It has won.  I have lost. 

I think I might be dying.   My DH says he's pretty sure the death wish thing is just wishful thinking on my part.  He said that as a rule, when you feel so sucktacular that you'd enjoy dying, you usually don't.

He has been doing the cleaning and tending the dishes to keep my nasty crud-laden germs out of the kitchen and off the food prep areas.  And off the plates.  He's a kind and wonderful man. With a strong sense of self preservation.

Meanwhile, I am almost too stupid and dopey to function.  I am prone to dropping into a deep sleep without a moment's warning.  I fell asleep while being tortured during a PT session for my torn hammy.  The therapist wondered if I'd blacked out, but I don't think so.  I think it was just a little nap.

I am not driving, needless to say.

Every now and then I cough until something that's supposed to stay inside flops out.  My liver is all covered with glitter and there are little green plastic 'pine needles' adhering to my appendix.   The perils of coughing up internal organs at holiday time. 

I've been running a low grade temp for the past week, but I'm afraid to go to the doctor.  There are two ailments circulating in Cozyville at this time.  There's the one I have.  And the other one.  The other involves unsavory bodily functions emitting explosively from several  orifices (orifi?)  at the same time.  I do not have that.  I do not wish to.  So me and the Creeping Crud stay home and cough.  Although to vary a bit, sometimes, we play Running Nose.  It runs.  I sit on the sofa and watch it go.  Have at, nose.  If you think I'm going to chase you, you're stupider than you look.

I took zillions of photos through the month of  December - the visit precipitating the Historic Clearing of The Table, and more.  Several feasts, lots of fun and family.  I plan to upload those real soon.  Right now I'm afraid I'll cough my stomach lining out onto the keyboard and ruin the computer.

There are no pictures with this report.  Would you like to see my liver flopping in the Christmas card glitter? Watch the Leaning Tower of Snotty Kleenex grow ever taller?  Well, tough.

Alert the FBI - My Dining Room Has Been Kidnapped

Oh my goodness!  I feel like the Mad Hatter and the White Rabbit combined into one.  I must find my dining room table.  I must!  Family is coming.  Here.  To my house.  For A Meal.

My table!!!  Where is it? 

And more to the point - what the heck does it LOOK like?  I mean, how am I to know if I find it?  It's...you know, kind of table shaped.  About table height.  It's supposed to be flat on top.  That much I remember for sure.  Oh - and it's wooden.  Yes, definitely made of wood.  That should help id it.  If, in fact, it is ever seen anywhere.

My (soon to be late if he keeps up with comments like this) husband says, "Babe.  Under stuff."

I think he really meant well.  But it's a pretty sweeping statement.  After all, his desk is 'under stuff'.  The kitchen counter is 'under stuff.'  The sofa is 'under stuff'. (Wow - this reminds me - I need to dust the stove.)

The potty is not under stuff, but we ain't eatin' there. 

But the table.  Must locate.

This is what it looks like.  It's an old picture, but it would do if I had to put photos on milk cartons.  You know, basic table.  Brown.  Wood.  Flat on top.  Usually seen hanging out with crafts projects.  If you see it, please call me. 

 

Those Dam Trolls...

Look what I found hidden in the closet!  Trolls! Look at that profile - and that little tummy! How cute is that?!?

The bunny suit - oh my goodness. The clown suit - that mask!

What mere words can I add to these photos? Oh - just this: Dam is their brand name. It's
stamped on their little posteriors.