Funny thing. The British don’t really celebrate the 4th. This year, neither do I.
The killer bug reared its ugly head again on Sunday.
Seriously, folks. It’s evil. I woke the next morning with broken blood vessels all over my face. People wouldn’t sit beside me in the doctor’s office. A kid asked if I had bird flu. Ebola, maybe? My doctor just said “You vomited hard, huh?”, and “It’ll heal up in a week.”
My doctor has one excellent bedside manner.
In the meantime I look like an old man who’s had too much to drink and too much to smoke. I’ll be spending the holiday sleeping in front of a fan, because bad skin and gut cramps make me hot and stress me out.
Someone, anyone…eat a dog and drink a cold one for me. And if you have any potato salad, throw that on as well. Just don’t tell my stomach.