What I feared would happen, has happened. My wonderful Florence Nightingale performance with The Husband has left me with la grippe. But, France is in the middle of a flu epidemic after all, so maybe I was bound to get it.
So here I am, in bed, with a cup of tea (which of course I had to make myself… grumble grumble, growl growl, **insert other unhappy noises**), propped up on pillows with a head that feels like it’s both floating and going to explode.
Can you tell I’m cranky?
On the bright side… Honey’s Honey will be walking Fifty today. Yesterday I walked Fifty in my pyjamas (in France! Shock. Horror. Right?), because I only had the energy to either A. get dressed or B. walk the dog, not A + B, and since Fifty had to go pee pee, pyjama dog walking it was. I’m sure I’m the scandal of the village.