In the beginning of January, I was hit by the flu. I had spent a Friday in Vancouver with my friend Alexis, enjoying wonderful food and company. All was well that day until I began the trek home.
It's quite a long trek to get to my house from downtown Vancouver. First, there's about 45 minutes by public transit, and then about another hour to hour and a half drive, depending on traffic and if I happen to get lost in the process, which I often do. While I was driving I began to feel really hot and just... off.
I didn't feel too horrible after that-just a general unwellness that played around the edges until Monday night, when I came home from work, sat on the couch, and then barely moved for the next four days. I'll spare you all the details, but for the love of God people...
GET A FLU SHOT.
That's really all I'm going to say about that one.
With dinner plans completely de-railed, my boys would come home and drift through the kitchen, not sure what to eat or what was still good out of the myraid of leftovers in the fridge.
"Can I eat this? Is it good?" I don't even recall what I said to them in my fever induced state, but I do remember giving instructions on where to find the tomatoes (on the counter), listing off various meal options in the freezer, and finally saying, "Look. I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU EAT." Mostly because I wasn't eating anything at all, for idea of food was completely abhorrent.
They were equally puzzled by the dishwasher.
"I can't fit any more in," They both stood there, looking down at it as if it were a new kind of puzzle for them to solve.
"Yes, you can. There was lots of room. Move something." I mumbled from the couch. They continued to insist that it was full and they couldn't possibly fit in another item until I finally hauled myself off the couch, stomped over, moved a few things around, jammed in their dishes, and retreated to the couch again, muttering about the helplessness of men when it comes to dishwashers.
"Put soap in it and turn it on," I barked at them.
Silence.
"Um.. do I put the soap in the big hole or the little one?"
"The little one."
Silence.
"Um, " the voice becomes smaller, probably anticipating the wrath that could possibly ensue. "What setting?"
"Oh for God's sake, you'd all STARVE if something happened to me. Figure it out!" After some discussion, they finally do. It takes two days for the dishwasher to get unloaded again, but at this point what do I care? I'm not even eating anyway.
By day five I finally surface from my flu induced slumber, and feeling somewhat human once more, descend to the kitchen to make myself something to eat. The dishwasher is empty, which is a plus, except...
...there are three days worth of dirty dishes sitting on the counter above it.
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