A pox upon your house

by Janie Jones

*pant, pant, pant*

Gub think you can’t catch a colb by reebing a blok.

Those snot-nosed little rug rats darling little cherubs at the crisis center I have to volunteer at for class have given me a raging head cold. If I wasn’t under such a time crunch I’d be in bed, inhaling a steaming bowl of Vick’s drugged on as much Sudafed as I could get my trembling diseased paws on.

But, I’m supposed to do my last day of volunteering today. I really, really, really don’t want to go, but then, I really, really, really, really want it over with. As I figure I got the plague from these little mangy monsters angels, all’s good if I go back tonight sneezing and wheezing, right?

Damn. I hate when the spud sneezes on me, and at this place I had no less than 3 little grubby buggers sweethearts drooling, coughing, slobbering and sneezing all over me last Wednesday and Friday. Yuck. I washed my hands about every five minutes and had a full decon shower after getting home, but as nasopharyngeal scrubbers are not normally standard household items my self sanitizing regimen fell short of full protection.

I’m so cranky right now I’d love to send a goobery green handkerchief to whom ever at the campus thought this volunteer shit was a good idea.

I’m going to wrap my face over a steaming bowl of water now.


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