I'm gonna say it. I preferred my former swine flu over my current nasty cold.
That's right. I said it. So there.
Granted, I would have actually preferred to have neither, but since life didn't provide me with that option, I will admit that I was less miserable with the flu. And why, you may ask?
At least with the flu, I did not labor under the delusion that I could carry on with my normal daily activities. With the flu, I ran a 102 fever for six days and I planted my keister on the couch the whole time. I did not get up except to pick up Anna at preschool, refill my Sprite and pee (due to the aforementioned Sprite drinking.) I got a little sympathy and pandering from my husband instead of the instruction to "Cover your mouth when you cough, woman." I lost five pounds. I didn't feel guilty about letting Anna watch six hours of Wonder Pets on a Saturday afternoon.
And I didn't have all this blasted mucus and coughing and raw cruddy nose and irritated spirit.
In the American Idol of the virus world, I guess I would have voted for my flu over my cold. Although, technically, they are both kind of losers. Which is kinda like the usual season of the real American Idol, too.
I need a nap.