I summoned up every last ounce of energy I had and did it.  And actually, it was fun.  There was a sizeable crowd, the flapper girls were just adorable, the group was appreciative.  And then I fled and went home.

Ten minutes later, after scarfing down a piece of cold pizza and a glass of water, I was asleep on the sofa, where I remained until three in the morning, finally dragging myself upstairs and warming up a hot water bottle before crashing again for the night.

The next morning, I knew I was in for it.

Chris had come down with conjunctivitis from Someone He Works With (I will not say who), and had gone to the doctor and been treated.  Well and good, except the doctor then took some vacation time (I mean really) and the thing Chris had been prescribed was something I cannot use, being allergic to the drug in question.  I thought I had been particularly careful, washing sheets, pillowcases, blankets, and everything else last week.

But apparently not careful enough.

So the weekend was particularly dreary.

My eyes were the color of cherry blossoms on the Tidal Basin in April on Sunday morning.  I used eyedrops that cleared them up somewhat, but I knew I had It, and I do not mean a Passing Resemblance to Clara Bow.  And the good doctor wouldn’t be in until Tuesday morning.

So with tissues and orange juice and aspirin in hand, I settled in to do the Sunday morning bender, since I was clearly not going anywhere, and didn’t feel up to doing housework or even reading.

(The bender is, of course, Meet the Press, followed by Chris Matthews, Face the Nation, and the CNN Sunday show, whatever it’s called.)

They were all irritating me, though.  Well, not Timmy Russert, he never irritates me, but his guest, Ralph Nader, surely did.  I take that back.  Russert irritated me once.  A gold star to any reader that can figure out who his guest was that Particular Sunday.

So I turned off the TV and made my weekend calls to my Dad, my Aunt Sue, and my sister, and then started charging up my phone.

Turns out almost everyone I know has some bug or other.  My Dad doesn’t, but since he has been on chemotherapy for months, he never leaves the house.  My Aunt was ill ... too ill to go to church, which is unusual for her, and she skipped some party she was going to attend, even more unusual.  My sister has been sick since Christmas, but claims to be feeling better now.  But she’s a teacher, so every time she goes to work, she’s likely to Fall Prey.

The news said, before I turned it off in exasperation, that they oopsed and missed the major flu bug of the season. They’ll try to do better next year, they said.  It’s really a guessing game, they said.

They poke you with a sharp needle and then tell you that they don’t give you all the possible flu combinations that they know about?  Why don’t they give you everything in the Known Universe?

Of course, I can get all indignant and all, but then I didn’t get the flu shot this year.  Last time I did, I got sick.  Although the doctor told me that’s impossible, because they use killed virus.  What difference does it make if they don’t use the RIGHT killed virus?

Anyway, back at Turning Tide Cottage, the zoo was being uncharacteristically kind.  The parrot was not screeching, Rudie the Dog was not imploring to go out every five minutes, and the cats were ... I have no idea where they were butthey were not bothering me. 

I sipped water, orange juice, tea, and eventually, Chris came home and made me pirogies because they are slimy and go down easily when your throat hurts. 

And somehow, by the time the last episode of Pride and Prejudice came on, I was feeling much better.  I’m not cured, by any stretch ... but I think I can just about get the paper out this week.  (Cough, cough.)