How’d. That. Happen. (Really.)

“You’re sick!?”  Asks The Mr, recoiling in horror as I vampire cough (Google it,) and groan while picking up Jr’s legos. “How’d that happen?”

Wierd. I had been thinking how freaking over-the-top ahhh-may-zing it was that my obsessive system of veggie intake, zinc supplement consumption, constant hand-washing, and inappropriate bargaining prayers had kept anything from truly taking hold in me WAY earlier in the season than this.
“How did this happen?’ you ask, my darling husband?
It’s not like I’ve been licking door knobs at the doctor’s office or something, but it’s a jungle out there, yo.

How could this NOT happen!? That is the correct question, dude.

Let’s see….

Perhaps it was the adorable little one-ish year old girl in her smushy little shopping cart seat cover who smiled at me over the bananas at the grocery last week.  And then sneezed thisdamnclose to my face as I reached for some.  Not sure that the Chiquita lady meant for THAT to come with a bunch.

It could’ve been the Girl Scout who wiped her nose on her hand and then handed me my Samoas at the door a few days ago.  (No wait, let’s take her out of it – The Mr hates Samoas and would love to find a way to tie them to my current plague.)

OR MAYBE…

The dad of another kiddo in Jr’s swimming class who wiped his kid’s nose with his bare hand and then kinda wiped it ON THE EDGE OF THE POOL before touching what seemed like EVERY DAMN SURFACE in the area during lessons last week.

Or the grody coworker who coughs into his hand and pushes the elevator button, or the mail lady who sort-of-kind-of turned her head before sneezing as she held our mail up in her hand last week…

Or maybe it is the walking, talking, smiling, adorable little petri dish of a 3-year-old who climbs me like a cat on one of those kitty condo thingys pretty much every second of every day that he can manage to do so.

Seriously….  “how did that happen.”

Ask me stupid questions later. Mama needs a Cherry 7-up.

 

 

 

1 Comment

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One response to “How’d. That. Happen. (Really.)

  1. Pingback: HOORAY for 2015 | Reluctantly Suburban

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