White Christmas
Cold/Flu Season
Kleenex littered the living room floor. A half eaten bowl of soup sat next to an empty tea cup on a tray that was resting on the coffee table next to a stack of books, a bottle of cold medicine, the remote for the television, a bottle of water, and a jar of vapor rub that the whole room smelled of. The coffee table itself had been moved to the side of the couch, which had the pull out mattress set up with clean sheets, every pillow in the house, and enough blankets to cover the entire back yard. The TV was playing reruns of Bewitched in the background. When he walked in these were all sights that greeted him, but the one that captured his attention was his wife. She was spread all over the mattress, clutching a mostly empty box of Kleenex. The oddest part of this picture though? She was snoring. He resisted the urge to laugh.
In the many years he had known his wife he had rarely seen her snore. It was a hilarious sight. Her hair was falling out of her braid, her eyes were puffy, her nose was red and swollen, her lips were cracked and her mouth was ajar, drool pooling at the side of her mouth and she was snoring. Loudly. He knew that it was because of the congestion, but it was still funny. He shook his head and smiled down at her. Even sick she was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
Knowing that she wouldn't be asleep for much longer, because she never slept well when she was sick, he went into the kitchen to start a fresh pot of tea and make more chicken soup. After checking in the refrigerator and pantry, he realized he would have to make a grocery run. They were out of chamomile, and it was the only tea she drank if she felt under the weather. All the Gatorade had also disappeared, along with the almost full pot of soup that had been in the fridge, and there weren't the right vegetables to make more. Plus they were out of broth and the honey was getting low. He sighed, deciding that it was better to just go before she even realized he'd been home. If she saw him, she'd never let him leave, and then there would be no supplies for her tomorrow. Besides, it was his fault she was sick anyway.
He had a surprisingly stellar immune system, and only ever got sick if something more serious was going around, like pneumonia. His wife however, due to the fact that she wasn't used to the snowy climate and had shit sinuses anyway, picked up anything he brought home. So a few days ago, when her throat started to hurt she started glaring. He hoped that she would be well enough to cook Thanksgiving dinner the following week.
He snuck back through the hallway, past the living room and out the front door, locking it behind him.
In the many years he had known his wife he had rarely seen her snore. It was a hilarious sight. Her hair was falling out of her braid, her eyes were puffy, her nose was red and swollen, her lips were cracked and her mouth was ajar, drool pooling at the side of her mouth and she was snoring. Loudly. He knew that it was because of the congestion, but it was still funny. He shook his head and smiled down at her. Even sick she was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
Knowing that she wouldn't be asleep for much longer, because she never slept well when she was sick, he went into the kitchen to start a fresh pot of tea and make more chicken soup. After checking in the refrigerator and pantry, he realized he would have to make a grocery run. They were out of chamomile, and it was the only tea she drank if she felt under the weather. All the Gatorade had also disappeared, along with the almost full pot of soup that had been in the fridge, and there weren't the right vegetables to make more. Plus they were out of broth and the honey was getting low. He sighed, deciding that it was better to just go before she even realized he'd been home. If she saw him, she'd never let him leave, and then there would be no supplies for her tomorrow. Besides, it was his fault she was sick anyway.
He had a surprisingly stellar immune system, and only ever got sick if something more serious was going around, like pneumonia. His wife however, due to the fact that she wasn't used to the snowy climate and had shit sinuses anyway, picked up anything he brought home. So a few days ago, when her throat started to hurt she started glaring. He hoped that she would be well enough to cook Thanksgiving dinner the following week.
He snuck back through the hallway, past the living room and out the front door, locking it behind him.