The thing about sick days is that they're so great in theory. If you're anything like me, you imagine a long, idyllic day filled with things like comfy couches piled high with pillows, wonderful movies on cable, and neverending supplies of vegetable beef soup and Pecan Sandies.
When I was a kid, whenever I stayed home from school sick I would watch Disney's The Incredible Journey. And eat lots of Pecan Sandies. And drink lots of the usually-forbidden colas my parents kept for just such occasions. There'd be The Price is Right at 11, and shelves and shelves of books to flip through. It was a veritable paradise of Catholic School Avoidanceism. (Is that a word?)
Taking a sick day as a grown-up is a lot less fun. You know, the night before, that you're not feeling up to par. You envision calling in sick to work the next day, and all you'll do in its stead. You can clean the entire apartment! Go pick up your pictures at Target! Shop for some Christmas decorations at Pier 1! Get lots of nifty holiday stuff for the apartment! Send out resumes! Get 25 pay-per-view flicks and watch them all! Enjoy the neverending soup and Sandies!
Well, as luck would have it, none of that was to come to fruition in my case. I'm just a pathetic creature, huddled on the couch, sipping tea and diet coke and making pitiful snuffling huffing sounds with my nose. No activity for me. Although, I DID watch Open Your Eyes and some show about how Nevada prostitutes keep their marriages going. And I emit the occasional canned-diet-coke burp, which is always fun if you're into burp rating. And Sean did bring me both a pumpkin spice donut AND a raspberry white chocolate scone this morning. So I may live.
But I think I'd prefer to be NOT sick...then I could make some chicken gumbo...and shop for Christmas decorations...and...