My Body is a Temple

Every so often I get an email that gives me a bonus.  It’s all I can do not to send a text to my daughter to say “we are on champagne tonight!” And do a jig around the kitchen.

Today, the Squeeze forwarded a teeny weeny email to say “no kid tonight”.  That’s it.  I’m telling you, extracting information from this guy is like pulling teeth.  So I reply with one word:  ‘why’ to which he replies ‘sick’.

I couldn’t resist the needle of “boy, for a kid that figures his body is a temple, he gets sick more than any other kid I know. 

This is not an exaggeration; its the unvarnished truth.   He does put it over that idiot he calls mother.  If he shuts one eye and squints with the other she's whipping out the thermometer.   But hey, when my kids were too “sick” to go to school, there was no sitting up watching television or on the internet, pausing in between to stuff their faces.  I went with the “too sick to go to school, too sick to get out of bed” routine.  The kids hated it, but we had sickies down to a minimum.

It doesn't say much for the velvet ideal of not having antibiotics and not sullying their perfect bodies and good bacteria.  Seriously, this kid is sicker than anyone I know!  Granted, it could have something to do with the lack of hygiene.  I mean if you can't wash your hands after holding your penis while in the loo, I'm not seeing them get washed after some flu ridden classmate has coughed and spluttered over everything!

Still, a night off!  Yay!