Lesson learned

As many of you know, I've been down and out for almost a week now, infected with some nasty disease that I'm trying to kill off. I hate being confined to an apartment where I can be in the bedroom, bathroom, kitchen and living room at the same time. If Tom Petty is right, and he usually is, I belong among the wild flowers. There are no wild flowers in this freaking apartment. There's a plant I keep forgetting to water... not entirely the same thing. I demand freedom! In my exile I have learned a lot. My only touchstone to the world has been Boyfriend, a very dangerous thing indeed. Ladies, Gentlemen and combinations of both, I give you the top three things that have given me insight this week:

1. My being ill turns us into an old couple.
Who knew that all it took was dysfunctional vocal cords and plugged ears? I can't hear him, he can't hear me, I always imagined this being paradise. Turns out it's just aggravating as hell. On the rare moments I have seen Boyfriend during my stint in the joint, this has been the way our conversations go:

Can you pass me the remote? (To give a better idea of my voice, only random syllables make sounds, and more often than not, it sounds like a honking goose in the distance.)
What? (His lips move, but he might as well be talking to me underwater. I hold my breath -- not because I think we're underwater, I'm trying to make my ears pop. Though, if this were insight number three, the underwater thing could be possible.)
Can you pass me the remote? (Honk, honk, honk.)
I can't hear you, what? (Insert sounds of the wharf here.)
What? (I point at the remote on the table beside him.)
What? You want some tea? I'll make you some tea. (For the record, I can't be upset. Tea is always a good solution if you don't know what I want.)

2. Boyfriend is an illusionist
Night one of system breakdown: Boyfriend disappears in the night. Ta da! He reappears in the morning, sleeping on the couch. Boyfriend disappears every day after work too, but somehow, our fridge keeps accumulating more juice, even when I haven't seen Boyfriend. Ta da! Mysterious. Also, while I decompose on the couch, my collection of cups keeps vanishing. I find them clean in the dish rack later on. Honesty time: I'm actually a professional when it comes to ignoring people. Ta da! I have to tip my hat to Boyfriend though, he's done better than usual when it comes to taking care of me.

3. When your medication advises you not to drink alcohol, don't drink alcohol.
This one stemmed from a case of mistaken identity. On day two of the system breakdown I ran out of juice. Rookie mistake. However, good news, there was margarita mix in the fridge and carbonated water too. Put the two together and you have one decent non-alcoholic beverage. That being said, unbeknown to your protagonist, the last time Boyfriend used the margarita mix, he thought it would be a smart idea to put tequila right in the mix bottle, saving him a valuable thirty seconds the next time a margarita craving hit. The thing about being sick, especially when you can't eat, is that you compensate by drinking more. I polished off the margarita mix and soda water pretty quickly, if I'd been able to taste anything, I'm certain I would've walked away after my first sip.

A short while later the transition happens...

I remember watching some sort of movie involving robots. At least I'm pretty sure I did, the idea that I latched onto had to come from somewhere. I got off the bed (the memory is a little fuzzy, though Boyfriend was delighted to fill me in the next morning) and my throat hurt like I'd spent the last hour reaching my hand into my mouth to claw my larynx (possible). I went into the bathroom, not sure why, then wandered to the living room to see Boyfriend on the couch watching sports something. He says I sat beside him, silent for a moment before I started rambling about robots. I was quite convinced, it seems, that robots were on the cusp of taking over the planet, and the moment I was healthy, they were going to wipe out the human race. I was rather stressed about the whole situation. Then Boyfriend says, I stood up, went into the bedroom, and passed out like a fourteen-year-old after a drinking contest.

The next morning when he recounted the strangeness, it didn't make sense until he called me a drunk. At least my plugged ears finally gave me a break so I could listen to the story.

Why am I a drunk? (Honkity, honk, honk)
I saw the empty bottle of margarita mix. That thing was loaded with tequila.

I shook my head insistently and yelled, Virgin, as loud as I could. Shame nobody popped in at that moment. It could have been a great misunderstanding. Also a shame the She-Hulk was down for the count too. I wrote quickly in my notebook, ripped out the page and handed Boyfriend my note:

IOU one beating from the She-Hulk. She'll be in touch when she's ready to brawl. Love you.

Time for tea,

K