Nyquil, you sexy bitch

I'm still in Florida.  This by itself would not be remarkable except I was supposed to be home by noon yesterday.  I woke up at 4 AM Sunday morning, in anticipation of my 6:30 AM flight, stood up, coughed, reeled, crawled back into bed and braced for an onslaught of chills and muscle aches.

The Boy quickly took control....

"You can't get on a plane like this, you'll scare people."

So he changed my flight, loaded more blankets on the bed and brought me some water.  "What else do you need?"

"NYQUIL"

Nyquil is my security blanket when I'm sick.  The warm, fuzzy semi-conscious feeling it provides when you feel like death is the BEST.  So the Boy brought me Nyquil and I buried myself in the covers to sleep it off.  This is the current state of the bedside table (as opposed to how it looked when I arrived)...

Please notice the half-full bottle of Nyquil and sad little "Get Well Soon" balloon, which showed up at some point during a Nyquil-induced haze, along with soup and Girl Scout cookies (score!).

Which brings me back to why I feel like death when I'm ON VACATION.

I'm fairly certain that this all started with the coughing, hacking, mucus encrusted baby behind me on the flight here.  Damn baby.  How hard is it for a baby to be considerate and cover his mouth when he coughs?

In my mind it goes something like this...

Baby: "Cough, hack, achoo."
Me: "Cover your mouth, baby.
Baby: "I don't have full motor control of my arms yet, bitch."
Me: "Figure it out.  I don't want your nasty-ass germs."
Baby: "Your Cynthia Rowley cowboy boots are soooo last season."

SNAP!

Keep in mind that I'm writing this on the back-end of a Nyquil bender, so in my mind conversations with bitchy gay babies on airplanes is completely logical.

Ok...enough already.  I need to get ready for 12 hours of travel.  Here's hoping there are a few good Nyquil-fueled hallucinations along the way.