The Pony's sniffles from Thursday evening and all day Friday have turned into a bucket-head. He still swears that he only has "allergies" to mowed grass. Yet he hasn't been around mowed grass for 24 hours. And counting. He fell asleep around 9:30 on Friday night, he says. Right after his late 2-hour soak in the big triangle tub. He slept through until 1:30 the next afternoon. I know that because...
I DIDN'T WAKE UP UNTIL 1:30 SATURDAY AFTERNOON!
Sweet Gummi Mary! I was jolted out of several dreams by The Pony at the door, saying,
"Um. Mom. You might want to get up. It's 1:30."
Yes. How sweet of him. How selfless, thinking only of ME, assuming that I wanted to awaken. Never mind that I DID. I had planned to be up by 11:30. But you know, without my walking talking alarm clock, I was not. No harm, no foul. It's not like I had to be anywhere.
Anyhoo... by the time I got to the kitchen, I saw The [DISEASED] Pony standing AT MY KITCHEN COUNTER!
"What are you DOING? That's MY space! And you're BREATHING on it! I'm coming over there to take my medicine!"
"Well, I could STOP breathing, I guess." Said The Pony in an echo chamber, a Puffs With Lotion stuffed to his congested nose, trying to expel a large flat-rate express mail package of thick snot.
"No. That won't be necessary. But YOU come over HERE, and let me get my meds out of the cabinet."
"I'm not sick! It's just an allergy."
"You sound exactly like a person who picked up a head cold. Just don't breathe on me. Or my stuff. Do you want me to bring you anything from town? For lunch or supper?"
"No. I'm making the crispy fish you have in the freezer."
"I see you've taken ONE BITE out of this leftover biscuit, and put it back on the pan."
"Oh, yeah. I took a bite, but then I thought, 'This will be better along with my fish later.' So I put it back. I didn't think anyone else would want it. Or the other two."
"Not NOW! But sure. I had no intention of eating the biscuits. Do you feel well enough to carry my tray downstairs when I get back from town?"
"I told you, I don't feel bad at all. It's just my nose. And I slept so long because I was tired from working all week. I turned off all my alarms. But it's funny that you don't want me anywhere around you, but you'll let me carry down your food and BREATHE all over it!"
"You're not such a leper that I don't want your hand on my tray to save my knees a walk down 13 rail-less steps. But if I could trouble you to hold your breath until you set down the tray in my lair..."
I'm pretty sure that didn't happen. It's a risk I'm willing to take. The Pony spent the rest of the day in his room, aside from coming to the garage to help me with a few groceries. Which I didn't have, since rain put the kibosh on my plan to enter Save A Lot. I let him carry in my purse and the mail (he's a professional, you know!), but I didn't let him touch my magical elixir.
If this runs its course like a normal cold, I figure The Pony will be kickin' up his heels and rarin' to go back to work on Monday, his next scheduled day.