There's always room for Jell-O

So it wasn't tuberculosis. It wasn't the bubonic plague. It wasn't even dengues fever (Mr. C's contribution to my list of possible maladies, and a good one). Of course, how could it have been? There's been a monsoon raging outside my house for the past week and the mosquitoes would have drowned by now.

But the birds. They're resourceful. It could have been avian flu.

Not according to my doctor, however. She examined me for exactly 2.47 seconds and said that she'd write me a script for something (never actually said what exactly) and when I inquired as to what I was being treated for she, my doctor, the one who should know, said the prescription would treat strep (though she didn't see any) or a sinus infection (fairly certain I had one, but not 100%). Or maybe rickets, botulism and/or kennel cough. Let's cover all our bases, m'kay?

I love our medical system. Love it.

I am finally feeling better. I was starting to think my poor health was tied to our spastic weather, and now that the rains have parted and Noah's floated off into the sunset with his little boat and pet fetish I'm even more convinced. The sun will shine this weekend and I'll eventually stop hacking and coughing up neon bile long enough to make a butterfly birthday cake for my special girl. Which will taste nothing like Benadryl. Saints be praised, because Benadryl is not as tasty as pink butter cream frosting.

I thank you all for your well wishes, your birthday messages (Chicky was touched. She wants to have you all over for woffee and cookies) and your getting through a post that had me describing my Technicolor bodily fluids. Which, as green as they were, were not as tasty as lime Jell-O. And that's saying something. Because nobody likes lime jello.