In sickness and in health

No, this isn’t a marriage post, it’s an illness post. When my father came down to see me, a point was brought up: I have what you might call a silver-spoon immune system. Any idea what that means? Let me explain.

While I may not have grown up putting on the Ritz, see below photo, I grew up staying at the Ritz. And unfortunately, my immune system has been lounging in one of those terribly comfortable bathrobes, ordering room service all this time.

Yeah, I was a pedophile magnet. What can I say?

Also, in looking at this picture, it would seem I also invented the Snuggie. Moving on from my infomercial potential (the other picture I was going to put up involved me with what looks like an early version of the Magic Bullet, what the hell!), I was informed this weekend that I have this elusive “silver spoon immune system,” meaning, or so I was told, that I can’t survive anything because when I was a child, I was hidden from all possibly infectious, um, things. Which was traumatic at the time because I didn’t get any of the prizes I wanted for playing “count the roadkill” on road trips; I really wanted that DIY Davy Crockett hat.

Total panty dropper.

Road kill chic aside, this silver spoon immune system really got me going. I mean, I know I wasn’t exactly running through the woods, drinking from swamps and rolling around in ivy of the poisonous variety, but does that make me a horrible person? No, it makes me a sick person. It makes my mother a horrible person, obviously.

Let your kids play with worms in the garden. Little Jimmy’s eating grass? Great! That’s what I say.

But to say I have no immune system because I have an overly cautious mother seems a little extreme. It’s not like I’m the world’s most careful person, but then again, I’m not exactly rolling around in poison ivy trying to relive my stolen childhood either; I’m here, searching music videos with dancing bears and 80s hits. By the way, 80s hits are the new Cold FX, just sayin’.

That’s my rant. And I’m posting about sickness because I’m, well, sick. I have a lovely thing called bronchitis, also known as doom (which apparently is now called 2012; thanks, ancient Mayans). So from one sick (in a cough, cough way) person to another (in a perverted, I read gay blogs way. Shame on you!), go roll yourself in some poison ivy, eat unfamiliar  berries, and take candy from strangers… it’s good for you.