Bring Out Your Dead....!

That's pretty much us, a parody of a parody courtesy Monty Python. If you don't know the very funny scene from The Meaning of Life -- as the dead are picked up from doorsteps and hauled away in a wheelbarrow, then you have to give it a watch. Because as they take one last poor pathetic soul away he peeps his head up and says "I'm not dead."
"Oh yes you are," explains the guy tossing him on the cart.

Well, we're not dead yet...but it's feeling close. I now also have an ear infection (we're three for four folks! And no, they're not contagious.) and sinus pain to beat the band. Charlotte went back to the doctor this morning for good measure (terrified as we are that her cough will morph into pneumonia and we won't be the wiser. It has not.). The doctor tells us this is the worst wave of winter respiratory ick they've seen in a long time. Indeed it seems like everyone we know has it or has had it. Or like us just keeps passing it back and forth between family members.

Last night a girlfriend dropped some beef stew off. She'd made extra and thought we might enjoy it (it was indeed delicious Annie!), but unwilling to come near our house of assumed germs she literally knocked on the door, handed Paul her efforts and beat a hasty retreat. As Paul rightly suggested, it's starting to feel like the villagers with pitchforks and lit torches are going to come knocking with a big bottle of hand sanitizer.