Attention all people who clean their homes with antibacterial soap and use Purell every four seconds: Cut it out. You're pissing off the bacteria, who are coming back as super-resistant uber-bugs that eat Zithro for breakfast and who are currently building gated communities in my alveoli.
I wasn't always like this. On Sunday I was back on the slopes, sledding on our new cheap-ass, plastic sledthings on really icy slopes. They're kind of boat-shaped and very sensitive to subtle steering changes, so if you lean your butt two nanometers to the right the thing lurches to the left and dumps you. The answer, therefore, was to go down prostrate with TwoBert on my back, hanging on for dear life and cackling like a Bond villain. I did this for about three hours, navigating moguls with my 43-year-old sternum, so when the aches came that night I figured either 1) it was flu, or 2) I'm getting too old for this shit.
It must be flu, because as I watch the snow flutter down outside my window I can't help thinking how KICK-ASS! the sledding will be this weekend. I will be out there, fever be damned, because if I'm destined to spend the day lying around I should at least be doing it at top speed.