I still feel dreadful. Should I go to work today, or not? I feel bad because The Poet who sits next to me is coming in today, and she usually has Fridays off because she is a fancy poet and has some kind of fellowship or something. On Fridays she is supposed to be home being deep and poetic and so forth. Instead she is coming in in case my arse dies, which it might.
Rose are red
Violets are blue
My throat is still killing me. Has it been 72 hours? I know you are supposed to go to the doctor if your throat hurts for more than 72 hours. I learned that when–guess what–I did NOT go to the doctor and it turns out I had strep and then the dang strep wouldn't go away. That was a good time.
Obviously it eventually went away. I am not over here blind from scarlett fever or anything. Like Mary Ingalls.
Did you ever see a real picture of Mary Ingalls? She was so pretty on that dumb show, and yet in real life? Not so adorable.
Poor Mary. She needed Wen.
WHICH, by the way, I purchased yesterday and I hate my own self. But I was sitting there aching and throating and sleeping off and on, and when I wasn't sleeping I ached and throated watching the Michael Jackson trial. Which is riveting.
At any rate, at some point the infomercial for Wen came on, and I have watched it 848393 times. I watched it when Melissa Gilbert touted it (so why she didn't tell Mary about it is beyond me) (and you know how I enjoy it when people confuse that idiotic show with the good books) ("There was no Albert!?") and I am watching it now when they show the woman with fine blonde hair and the black woman whose hair looks like mine.
Maybe I am black and no one has told me.
Anyway, in the commercial everyone has fabulous hair and y'all know I rarely have fabulous hair. So I got the dang stuff. Did I mention I am poor now that I live alone? I DID email the statistics textbook company to ask when another book needs proofing and–yay!–I get another one in two weeks.
So get ready for me to complain about THAT every second until that sizeable check rolls in.
Anyway, that is how I am justifying my big $30 purchase of Wen. And of course if I like it, I have to find a way to continue to justify my use of Wen.
We'll wait for the day wen that happens. BAH!
Do I get the almonds with my order? What about the mint leaf? Ima SUE if I don't get the almonds and the mint leaf.
And by the way? If you were thinking of just lying around at home ingesting Propofol? Not such a good idea. Poor Michael Jackson. Did you hear that terrible audio of him slurring his words?
It just occurred to me that I'll bet I'm allergic to Wen. You know I am allergic to everything with a scent. Why can't I remember these things until it's too late? Earlier this year my mother brought over Cindy Crawford's Meaningful Beauty, the stuff where Cindy Crawford is out in a French field rubbing melons all over her face, and I could not have been more allergic.
Well. I guess it could have KILLED me. That would have counted as "more allergic." But my throat got all closey and my eyes watered and basically it was Meaningful Anaphylactic Shock, is what it was. That brings all the boys to your melons. Is what it does.
I guess I had better shower and see if I can drag myself to the workplace. At least it's Friday. It is Friday, right? I'll show up in jeans and it'll be Thursday.