Where Do I Go for my Sick Day Refund?

Thanks to The Giant Vermin on Flickr (hey, I don't make up these names, People!)

I succumbed to my hypochondria yesterday, and called in sick.  I slept in until 10 AM.

And then guilt set in.

There I was, lollygagging in bed with 10 million things to do.

By missing work, that would mean I have twice as much to do on Monday, leaving even less time to do anything at home.

The house was a mess, the dogs wanted to play, and there was a stack of mail I needed to shred after combing through it for any official letters from attorneys announcing that I had just inherited a million dollars from a dead uncle who won the lottery.

So I got out of bed and tended to the first priority – downing a bunch of medication and a Diet Coke.

Caffeine and prescription drugs now coursing through my system, I determined the next logical task was to go back to bed.

But Wonderbutt did not see the wisdom in that decision.  Entirely oblivious to the fact that only two humans had left the house in the morning instead of the usual three, he was suddenly alerted to my presence by my rummaging in the medicine cabinet and refrigerator.  He decided to bark down the hallway until I made an appearance.

I peered around the corner and told him, “Hi”, but that wasn’t enough.  He informed me that he planned to continue barking until I did what I was obviously staying home on a workday to do – entertain him.

I sighed.  “O.K.  15 minutes.  Then, I’m going back to bed.”

Wonderbutt was elated. He tore around the house in circles, and brought every toy he could find to deposit in front of me. He proudly showed me the pillow he had been in the process of tearing up, as well.  Mrs. P.I.B., on the other hand, lifted her head once to give us a “Please shut up” look, and remained stretched out on her side, obviously refusing to have her normal napping routine disturbed.

After Wonderbutt finally flopped down, panting, on the floor, I thought I might just complete one more task before returning to bed.  Reasoning that tackling the mail would not be too taxing, I took care of that next.  Then the shredder got full, and I had to empty it.

Then I figured I should probably take out the garbage.  But the bag wasn’t quite full.  So I needed to do more cleaning to fill it up.

Wonderbutt loves garbage bags, believing them to be some sort of doggie pinatas.   As soon as he saw me carrying the bag, he revved up for a second bout of racing around the room.  It was so exciting that he just couldn’t contain himself.  Really.  He peed all over the floor.

After cleaning that up, I started to reprimand myself for not allowing myself to take a day of rest. I felt yucky, though.  So I figured I would just take a shower, brush my teeth,and go back to bed.

But there weren’t any clean clothes I wanted to change into, so I felt obligated to do my laundry.

You have probably concluded by now that I never went back to bed.  So, when Cap’n Firepants called to check up on me that afternoon, I commanded him to never let me take a sick day again, because they make me feel worse than I would’ve felt by bravely trudging through another day of work and taking care of all of my obligations.

I hope he remembers that when he gets sick next week.

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