Everyone in my house got the bacon lung. First me then my sweetie then the bear. It was not the most fun ever but it wasn't the GERM APOCALYPSE (run! run! save yourselves!) that our media has been promising.
I felt a lousy and went to bed early for a few days, and took some meds to keep my fever down and some honey for the cough that eventually turned up. Not fun. But not the end of the world either, and no time off "work" for me. (Why yes, I am bragging about my immune system a bit.)
My sweetie got sick the day before my birthday, (the Friday) we had some chums around for a few drinkies and had a nice time, and also accidentally infected them. OOPS. Andy groaned quietly into his beer.
By Saturday, he was in full swine swing, laying around on the couch and groaning like a consumptive Victorian. On my birthday.
Now, bearing in mind that we didn't really know it was the piggie wheeze and that I am kind of a monster, I was pretty horrible to my sweetie.
I was all, "Oh hey look, you have exactly what I did but with roughly four times as much whining. Poor you."
He was all "Hack. Groan. Whimper"
So I took my bear out for sushi and felt a bit sorry for myself. Le sigh.
I did get the to open and coo over my hat (again) want to see it?
And then my Bear got sick. Which is a whole 'nuther post.