Summer is over and that is a total drag. My final year of grad school started last week, and the leaves are starting to change color and everyone keeps reminding me that Pumpkin Spice Lattes are back at Starbucks. Okay so the only thing on that list that's a true drag is that school has started.
And actually, that wouldn't be so bad except for the fact that I'm currently trying to do all my homework while battling a bad cold that came with a heaping side of crow:
Adam took the entire week of Labor Day off (sidenote: we went to San Francisco, it was fantastic), and last Monday he came home from his first day back at work and immediately fell into bed for about three hours. "I have a sore throat," he said. "Mmmhmm," I said. "Do you have a case of back-to-work-itis?" And all he did was roll over and go back to sleep, which I took as a sign that he was admitting to being a bit melodramatic. He took an afternoon off sometime later in the week, and I continued to tease him for faking.
Now, I think we all know where this is going.
Saturday morning I woke up with a sore throat, and things have gone downhill from there. Today I went through an entire box of Kleenex. But the worst part is not that I wake myself up coughing, or that my nose is bright red from all the tissues it's seen, oh no. The worst part is admitting to Adam that I was wrong. I mean, that was even hard to type.
And maybe the second worst thing is that I can't be the diva I typically am when I'm sick, because if the roles were reversed, I'd SO be rubbing this in his face, and I don't really want to lose more face than I already have by admitting to being wrong. It would be something like, "oh, you need me to make dinner? Because you're sick? Like I was last week?" and on and on. But tonight when he came home to find me curled up in bed and covered in used tissues, he just asked if I needed anything and proceeded to make dinner. Proving that I am sick with some sort of Karmic cold only non-sympathizers ever come down with.