Husband is sick, which means he’s been laying on the couch moaning a lot. Last night he had a fever and chills. This means he tried to kill me by piling more blankets on us than one would need to pack out for arctic exploration even though it was already 70 degrees in the house because he was fussing about being too cold. I was too warm to sleep last night.

Let’s pause for a moment to mull that over.

I was too warm. I could not sleep.

These are things that happen pretty much…never.

So today I’m crabby and he’s a ball of whinge.

He was a greasy ball of whinge but I just marched him to a shower, so now he’s a squeaky clean ball of whinge.

On the upside, he’s using his downtime productively. When he’s not moaning and whinging, he’s been searching the internet and sending me funny links. He just sent me Hyperbole and a Half’s post about her new dog.

A lingering fear of mine was confirmed last night: My dog might be slightly retarded.

I’ve wondered about her intelligence ever since I adopted her and subsequently discovered that she was unable to figure out how stairs worked.

It’s a hilarious post, made more hilarious by the illustrations.

I finished that post and immediately got distracted by another one that was labeled “a better pain scale.” Brilliant. You must go read it.

Happy Monday!

p.s. I still need to fix these margins. I’d give the task to Husband but he really is sick and not up to it, all mocking aside. This is a serious situation. Husband has thousands of hours of sick leave, he’s rarely sick. I’m concerned. What if he gets worse? What if he’s contagious? And most importantly, who is going to feed me, damnit?