The reservations. The dinner. The babysitter. The going out after dinner. The drinking and dancing. The cocktails. All cancelled.
Instead, I will be sitting my sick ass at home eating thawed-out leftover soup and coughing and trying to keep my head from exploding and covering my walls with phlegm.
And the four-year-old? She doesn't understand what "Mommy is sick" means, apparently. I want to crawl in a hole and die.