Carlos. Sick. Bob. Sickened.

Carlos decided on Sunday, after we cleaned house top to bottom, wall-to-wall, side-to-side, to take a shower. But then, fresh from the shower, he decides to take Ozzo The Pocket Dog for a walk.

It's cold out. Carlos doesn't dry his hair.

The next morning he complains he doesn't feel well. But, like a good soldier, he goes off to work. Then he calls home at around 2 PM to say that he's coming home because he's sick.

Me, the ever-loving spouse, says, No, stay at work until 5.

He asks, Why?

Because I want the house to myself.

Okay, so I am not really Mr. Insensitive. And he says he's on his way home. He says he wants to sleep. He says he wants soup.

I got the stuff out to make a pizza, I say.

No soupy for me?

Sigh. He comes home. I make him got to bed. He hacks. He sneezes. He coughs. The guilt sets in, and I put all the pizza fixin's away, and get out some chicken to make him the soup. I dice and saute and spice and simmer all kinds of garlic and chicken and carrots/celery/onions/poblanos and curry and ginger and turmeric and curry for a nice hot spicy soup. I make rice to add to the soup. I tiptoe down the hall to the bedroom, and I see he's awake.

Soup is almost ready.

I wanted pizza.

Why God Why!!

Side note: after dinner he heads back to bed. i go check on him, and tell him that there's NyQuil in the bathroom. He says he has some Robby Two-sin.

Robby? Oooooooooooooh! Robitussin.

Luuuuuuuuuucy!