I’m struck down with a case of man flu today. I don’t really have a voice anymore. My throat hurts. Last night I had a bizarre bout of shivering complete with chattering teeth. I think I’m actually sick. And I hate it. It seems like such a waste of a day at home. There are heaps of things I’d rather do while not being where I’m meant to be. I could watch movies. I could make grass angels in the yard (like snow angels but not).
Today is a rainy and miserable day too. Perfect for watching movies and drinking hot drinks. In front of a fire. But I feel dreadful. I’m still in bed. How I wish I was faking it.
Chucking a sickie is awesome. Ferris Bueller’s Day Off captured the sickie zeitgeist and also provided me, in my childhood, with a foolproof method of creating clammy skin. Lick your hands. Rub your forehead. Wallah. A day off. Faking diarrhea is always good too – because it’s almost completely unverifiable (who wants to check) and it has that awkwardness about it that means people don’t ask questions when you’re phoning it in.