I Suppose Things COULD Have Been Worse

In the grand scheme of things, having a 9-hour power outage is not the most inconvenient thing that could happen. During the Great Icepocalypse of '06, the Mansion was without electricity for nigh on TWO WEEKS. The boys and I moved in with my mom, and Farmer H stayed to run a kerosene heater to prevent the pipes from freezing, and to discourage looters. Heh, heh. We all know how discouraging Farmer H can be!

Yes, it COULD have been worse, but when I got up at 10:30 to respond to one of Farmer H's texts, it would have been hard to convince me of that. 

I HAD A SORE THROAT!

Oh, you may THINK you know, but you have no idea how that triggered me! I had climbed into bed, between the brown plaid flannel sheet and the gray thermal blanket (Farmer H made the bed), being in perfect health. I tossed and turned mentally, though barely moving my limbs. 2:20 a.m. was early for me to go to bed, and my body was not fooled.

I prefer to sleep on my left side. That leaves my back to Farmer H. Not by design, that's always been my most comfortable position, and he wanted the side of the bed nearest the bathroom. Around 4:30, when The Pony questioned the lack of power for his shower, I turned onto my back.

Everything would have been fine, except for Farmer H sighing heavily and getting up for a bathroom visit. When he came back to bed (no, someone had not taken his place, heh, heh, in keeping with yesterday's title theme)... Farmer H turned to lie on HIS left side. 

The room was pitch dark, but while bouncing the mattress as if it was a trampoline, I could tell how he was positioning himself. Not on his back, per usual, but on his left side. He let out a HARUMPH, and in that second, I felt

A DROP OF FARMER H SPIT LAND ON MY LOWER LIP!

Eek! I could not have been more panicked than Lucy Van Pelt, upon receiving a dog kiss from Snoopy! Boil some water! Get some disinfectant!

"Oh, yuck! I just felt your saliva on my bottom lip! That's NASTY!"

"Oh, you did not."

"Why would I make that up! Even with your breather not working, I still get your germs sprayed onto my face!"

"I didn't get no germs on your face!"

"You did too! It didn't come out of nowhere! Now you're gonna lay there BREATHING across my face all night!"

Of course you won't be surprised to hear that Farmer H did not change his position. Nor whip out a convenient spit hood like used by law enforcement, which I thought he might have stashed away from a surplus bought at the auction.

So... in the two hours that I was exposed to Farmer H's breathy breath, his cooties worked their way to the back of my throat while I was finally able to sleep, and began burrowing their way into my mucous membranes while I was unaware.

Of course Farmer H denied it when he returned home from his Storage Unit Store.

"I didn't make you sick! You're always blaming me!"

"I was fine until you coughed your spit on my lower lip. And then breathed across my face for two hours."

"You're crazy. Maybe you're getting sick, and this is just the time it hit you."

"Well, wouldn't THAT be convenient for you. YOU, who was sick last week! While I was fine. YOU, who goes out every day around a million people, and me, who only goes to buy a 44 oz Diet Coke."

"You ain't sick."

"Feel my neck balls! They're all swollen now! OUCH! I said FEEL, not SQUEEZE!"

"They are a little swollen. I guess you're just coming down with something. I didn't have anything to do with it."

"YOU SPIT ON MY LIP!"

Farmer H was still in denial when I got in the shower. After first taking an acetaminophen (for my sore back from making the Chex Mix bending over the oven). I gargled about 10 times with hot shower water. Still hurting, but not as much. I drank some water and a canned Diet Coke and the juice of an orange that The Pony brought me from his route. One house leaves out treats for the mail carrier.

12 hours later, my neck balls are halfway back to normal, and my throat doesn't hurt. 

I may be able to fight off Farmer H's cooties.