My mom tells me I have the immune system of an Ox. There’s one thing I can certainly be proud of. Once a year, however, my bodily functions cop out (sort of an unpleasant mental image, but so be it) and I get this ridiculous, tectonic-plate-shifting cough/sneeze/runny nose combo. Not the kind of scratch-your-throat cough, though; on the contrary, the kind with enough phlegm that I could bottle the stuff and sell it country-wide.
Am I the prettiest, or what?
Any who, God decided (because who else would?) to bestow this stunning cough on me in November. Oh boy, Christmas come early! Now there’s a switch to the batters line-up for ya. I’m usually ok with being a little sick because of a few reasons:
- I think it gives my voice this sexy, raspy aspect to it. Think Kim Carnes’ “Bette Davis Eyes” or any word uttered from Macy Gray’s lips.
- It gives potential to call out sick from work and/or miss class.
- It’s an enabler to stay in bed, sip on tea/hot chocolate and watch re-runs of Say Yes to The Dress, RHOBH (follow Kyle Richards, @KyleRichards18), and anything on food network or ESPN.
That’s great ‘n all but here’s the kicker: I work 3 jobs that don’t “do” coverage and I had an important informational interview for an awesome potential job after May graduation. So yesterday went a little something like this:
Late to my 8am class and forgot a jacket. Go back to apartment to grab North Face. Pick up (much needed) XL coffee and head to work at the TD Garden. I try to slink past my boss so I can do my make-up when I hear “You get hit by a Mac truck this morning, Halle?”……k. Laugh it off, Sarah, just laugh it off. Sludge through the day feeling like I’m swimming in the deep end of the pool and asking everyone to repeat himself and to pardon my apparent need for a cochlear implant. End the day with an information interview, which went surprisingly well despite my slightly puffy eyes. I managed to squeeze out a few delicate coughs to make sure I wouldn’t offend.
More excited than a kid on Christmas morning, I was so ready to rip off my clothes (Superman style, naturally) and slink into bed, falling into a blissful sleep by 9 pm.
2:00am…drifting….drifting….drifting….TEXT MESSAGE. Fuck.