I’ve been under the weather for about a week. This is my second bout with a severe head cold since Christmas. I thought I had it beat, but the germs that be had other plans. The rematch has featured rabbit punches to the abdomen from coughing, occasionally ducking for cover due to fatigue, but a quick trip to the corner with my manager (my GP) let me know that my strategy is sound.
I’ve managed to stay toe to toe with this bug for many rounds and this morning I felt like it’s about to take that fateful step back that renders me the victor. Happy to be feeling better, I was detailing my progress to my husband in more detail than he likely appreciated. When I finished my assessment, he looked at me with a smirk and asked, “You know how I know you’re getting better?” I was eager to hear what signs he saw that my opponent was getting ready to throw in the towel. “How?” I asked with enthusiastic curiosity. The smirk grew, his eyes crinkled at the corners, and he replied, “Your word count is up.”
With that the referee counted to ten, the bell rang, and I was declared the winner.
When I’m completely recovered, I’ll make myself a fancy belt. It’ll be a great conversation piece.
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