I'm at the tail end of a week off work, during which my body has enthusiastically adopted the office cold as a take-home memento.
This almighty snot storm came about immediately after I decided to try out going for a "running streak" after reading about them in a magazine.
... I left that gap there to allow you the time to jump to the conclusion that I've taken up naked running. Which, I guess, would be a good explanation as to how I've contracted a cold, what with it being November and freezing.
But nah. Boringly, a running streak is just where you try to run every single day for as long as you can manage it. I lasted a weak six days before my legs and brain threw in the towel and gave me something else to focus on.
"Look, Becky! Mucus!!"
I would have preferred something that doesn't lead to me snorting and harrumphing into
A's ear as I try to warm up in bed. Not unlike an amorous pig.
Anyhoo, I've been on my arse for the last couple of days, slurping tea and troughing back fatty, comforting food.
Fun fact - whilst running makes me feel all magical and immortal, turns out inactivity does the total opposite. Here are some of the cheerier thoughts that have ridden the tidal wave of snot through my brain this week:
1. "I can feel my already just passably average body melting into a state of boneless lardification the longer I sit still."
....okay,okay. My self pity's not that articulate. It was more like
" Wahhh, I'm turning into a fleshy bag of soft cheese!"
2. "Every second I sit here snivelling and internetting is a second where my friends continue to best me."
"Waah, I'm poor and all my friends are more successful than meeee!"
3. "I look like a melty ghost with straw for hair and I can't hear Breaking Bad because I keep sneezing over it!"
<no translation necessary>
Oh. Oh! And to top off my general feelings of hideousness and total unproductiveness (... Unproductivity..?), I managed to embarrass myself in front of A - a rare thing, as in out almost-two years of living in sin together (hee), I believe he's seen me in all my stumbling, fumbling and bumbling glory.
So. Curled up under a throw on the sofa, I'm wearing my best woe-is-me-please-bring-hot-beverages face and it's starting to dawn on my that amidst the gentle purr of gunfire from Call Of Duty, a hot beverage is probably not forthcoming.
Because I'm an idependant wumman a-la Beyonce and co, I bravely decide to venture the treacherous few steps to the kitchen (I'd like you to imagine me doing so to the tune of Destiny's Child's Survivor, if you don't mind). I stand all the way up, super proud of my decision. Momma don't need no man to get her some peppermint tea! <insert poorly executed finger snap here>
I feel something tickling the back of my thigh. Assuming it's my skirt being bothersome, I swat at it with my hands. The tickling quickly races down the entirety of the back of my legs, and in a rare moment of distraction from the Playstation, I see that A's mouth is aghast with horror.
...because I have a good metre or so of crumpled up loo roll hanging from my pants all the way down to the floor. It looks like in my haste to get off the toilet and back to the sofa, I've neglected to dispose of said bog roll and have instead accidentally stored it in my knickers like a dirty squirrel.
...Or, that in the absence of coloured hankies, I was improvising and trying out a magic trick. My audience was not amused.
Anyway. Turns out I'd just been sat on some tissue I'd initially brought downstairs for nose blowing purposes and forgotten it was there.
Well, I think that's as good as any mental image to finish off a blog post on. Hope you've all had a better weekend than I have!
Lots of love,
D.S (Dirty Squirrel).