Once upon a time there was a family of ugly globs living in my lungs...

 

It all started on Friday THE THIRTEENTH ooh spoooooky!

I came down with some bug. Last year I was rarely sick but it seems this year will be the year of the Funkyflus for me.

As you may or may not know, you simply cannot be sick while working at the Asylum. People immediately start shielding themselves from you and spraying every area you touch with bleachlike substances. While your hand is still touching the object! I don't know why they treat people like pariahs when they're ill. With the exception of OZ, it's not like we go out licking unsanitary hookers on purpose!

So, I decided to keep my illness (which I believe was passed on to me by that evil OZ!) on the down-low. Unfortunately for me, at the earliest sign of any illness, my voice is the first to go. Added to that, I have this creepy cough that I haven't been able to get rid of for over a month. That cough has irritated my throat and, I'm assuming because I am not a licensed professional, my vocal chords. So instead of my sweet HIGH PITCHED voice OF A NINE YEAR OLD, I sound like a 1920s hustler whose had too many cigarettes, booze and good times. The voice is a little less Mae West and a lot more Elmer Fudd-y. I will call this my alter ego and name her Lullibell. What the hell was I talking about? Oh right! I'm sick.

I went to work and as soon as I said something, everyone pounced on me.

"Are you sick?"
"Sounds like something's cookin'!"
"Your hair looks great!"

I told them I felt fine but I felt a little congested. Immediately Glynda told me to go home. Since I no longer have any more time off left in the season, I told her that I would go home if they paid me for the day. She stared at me blankly and said "No, but I don't want you to give it to us" and that's when I said "This is harassment!" no I actually told her that if she did not get it from kissing OZ's ass, then she wouldn't get it from me.

I struggled the whole day to appear healthy but once I got home that evening, my bravado evaporated. I sat on the sofa coughing and whimpering, waiting for Tom Cruise to come heal me. Bastard never showed.

I managed to run some errands on Saturday but on Sunday all I did was wallow in self pity, vowing to make the world a bitter place if I came out of this alive.

On Monday, I called in sick because I had trouble sleeping and I knew I would look like a zombie on meth and therefore be judged by the bats because even though looking like zombies on meth is their permanent look, it's unacceptable for me to come down with any illness. I decided to stay home and rest. I slept until 2pm. TWO PM! It was almost dinner time! I felt better, still a little cough-y but the headache and lightheadedness were gone.

Join me in the present day, Tuesday, where I'm driving to work and practicing my 'good mornings' because I don't want my voice to sound all scratchy when I greet Glynda.

First, I sounded like Lurch  "Good morning!" nope try again "GOOD MORNING!" that sounded like Jack McFarland on helium. Bring it down a few notches "Good morning!" now I'm Oscar the freaking Grouch! Good, I'm getting closer! I would be able to fool people into thinking I was 100% better and they wouldn't irritate me with their obnoxious insinuations of me infecting the whole office thereby taking years off their lives. I high fived myself in the rear view mirror and that's when I realized . . .

My life? Pathetic.

Bee got served by a mummy!

I went to JEWEL (grocery store) with little niece Natalia today because my mom still has the shingles and supposedly can barely move therefore cannot make me my dinner! Personally, I think she's faking it. Yes, I know the pharmacist gave me the third degree when I went to go pick up her Gebnumbsyourbrainatin (spelling?). He asked me if I had ever taken that medication before and then shined a light in my eyes. After I explained my mom had shingles he raised his hands (as if to say 'stay away from me, short sweaty girl) and said "Ohhhh! That is very painful!" then he took my hundred dollars and ran back into the alley. Where was I? Oh right! Jewel.

My cooking expertise has been exhausted since I made a pot roast on Wednesday so I was trying to plan a meal by the seat of my pants. No recipe, no safety net. As I was walking around aimlessly with my 6 year old know it all, I thought "hmmm how about some sandwiches?" (because I don't eat those enough). I went to the deli and grabbed one of those number things because people are vicious at the deli. Seriously. We can find people of all walks of life and bitchiness at the deli.

All of a sudden I hear "NUMBER 55!! NUMBER 55!!" I jumped up and waved my number in the air. Me! That's me! And kinda did an 'in your face' type of dance to the man with number 56 (how about not stopping at the sample section buddy!). This cranky old lady came to stand in front of me and waited silently for me to direct the next 3 minutes of her life. Well, she was really old and slow so it would probably be more like 10 minutes.

I innocently asked for "Sarah Lee Brown Sugar Ham". How dare I? Did I not know they had STOPPED PRODUCTION of this ham over a YEAR AGO??

Ummm, while I do like to keep up to date with the cured and processed meat industry, I leave that for special occasions. Like when I'm comatose drooling onto my pillow or Tazz. Whichever is closest.

So I reasonably ask "well, is there anything similar you have in stock?"

"THE KRAUKAS THAT'S RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOUR FACE!"

The fuck? Did I step on her oxygen line by mistake?

Normally, if I wasn't trying to be a role model-ish type of person for my 6 year old niece, I would have jumped over the counter... okay maybe not jumped since my pole vaulting days are over, I would have climbed over that counter... no, it's kinda high. I would have walked all the way around the counter and then stuffed the old lady's face into the fucking Kraukas but I was trying to be a civilized woman so I instead asked her for a pound and a half of ham. THINLY SLICED. That woman got her workout for the year!

However!

After I asked her for a pound of the BLT salad and turned to see where Natalia was, the old mummy started yelling "HELLOOOO HELLOOOO HELLOOO!!" and waving her arms like a schizophrenic goat ON ACID.

I went up, grabbed my GD salad and excused her behavior by saying "Well, that's old people for you. Feel the need to poison you before they die"

I was thisclose to losing my cool in front of the little niece.

I was ashamed of myself until I started telling Andy the story and he laughed and said:

"Bee got served by a mummy!"

So now all I can think about is revenge and how I want to go back and give her a tour of the bottom of my left foot. All close and personal-like.

The ham was good though.