Sympathy for the Butcher

The Butcher is so sick.  We spent the evening half-fighting about whether he should go to the emergency room.  Instead, he slept and puked and I sat there watching and being upset.

And yes, I know, when I inevitably get it, he will not return the favor.

But what can you do?  Fish gotta swim; birds gotta fly; I’ve gotta fret.

5 thoughts on “Sympathy for the Butcher

  1. Ok, I am perfectly willing to feel sorry for the Butcher and wish him better and think about the fact that, if I had chicken soup right now, I’d totally go halvsies with him.

    However, before I can even begin to think about how sad it is that the Butcher is laid low, I need you to reassure me that the TCP Afghan is nowhere near the site of his sickness and ESPECIALLY to reassure me that the TCP afghan has not, to your knowlege, been puked on. No matter what the Professor may remark about the puke stains being indistinguishable from the color pattern of the afghan, I believe that I would be able to tell.

  2. Oh, Georgia, I hadn’t thought of this in terms of the biological warfare potential. He is laying on the couch with the completed part of the TCP afghan over him. He’s not barfed on it, but he is getting his sicky-poo germs on it.

    I will be sure to wash it before I give it to you. Even so, you might want to quarantine it for a few days.

    Or, if I don’t get sick, maybe his plan hasn’t worked.

  3. I hope the Butcher is over that and that you will not really get it – I had that last week and the Mathlete had to drag me to the emergency room because I was seriously dehydrated. I should have known something was up when having to get an IV didn’t really make much difference to me one way or another.

Comments are closed.