This flight is delayed

    I must have looked pretty bad this morning.  The first thing my husband said to me was, "Promise me you won't walk today.  You need to rest."  I hesitated.  Obviously he doesn't understand how much better I feel sweating it out in our home gym.  "I look that bad huh?  Thanks.  Don't you know by now that no matter how bad I look, you are supposed to tell me how beautiful I am?"  He smiled.  " Well, right now, I am not up to it, but I may feel better later in the day."  I grabbed my box of tissues and headed downstairs.  Take my vitamins, feed the cat, turn on the coffee pot, etc...normal morning routine stuff.
   Sometimes I think he believes me to be addicted to the exercise.  Imagine that.  Me?  Addicted to working out.  That's just ridiculous.  He should know better.  I mean, we have been married for nearly sixteen years.  Addicted to watching "Glee"?  Sure.  But addicted to working out, like some kind of athlete?  I don't think so.  Then again, it does make me feel as if I am flying.  Sometimes I don't even notice the numbers on the display panel until it is nearly time to end my workout.  And walking the neighborhood was even better.  Walking gives me time to think, perchance to dream.  : )
    Perhaps without even knowing it, I have achieved a "walker's high".  Does that even exist?  Do I truly need to get on that treadmill, to get my workout fix?
    As he was walking out the door, he leaned over to give me a kiss on the cheek.  "Promise?"  Feeling a bit pressured into it, I agreed not to walk today.  Secretly, I wondered if I could keep that promise.  I knew I would try.  I knew that if I didn't, and I was still sick this afternoon, he would not let me live it down.
     Men, in general, are not nurturers.  They have little patience for sick women.  They need us to get better quickly.  I've been fighting this for three days now.  One more and he'll ship me off to the doctor's office.  And we can't have that.  They will give me antibiotics.  Then I'll have other issues.
     No, this morning, I will try to be good.  I will bundle up under the covers and drink lots of fluids.  I'll be alone, but maybe I'll watch Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan in the movie "You Got Mail".  I do sound like her right now (the scene where she is home sick) and well, I am surrounded by tissues.  Maybe I'll imagine someone bringing me daisies and making me hot tea.  That's nice.  
    Ugh..I absolutely hate this.  My eyes are watery.  My nose is running.  I have to man up.  I have to kick this.  Emergen-C...Orange Juice...echinacea, chicken broth...garlic...all natural remedies.
    My husband just walked back in the door.  "Here.  I bought you some antihistamine."  He leaned over and kissed me goodbye, then headed for work.  Wasn't that sweet?  How much you want to bet he thought he would catch me on the treadmill?
    Desperate for relief, I tear through the box.  I wish our son was home.  He is much better at opening this child resistant packaging.  I pull out my glasses to read the directions.  What are these, 150's?  Time to upgrade the reading glasses.  Why do they write the instructions so small?  Let's see...I decide to go for the maximum dosage.  That should work.  Maybe, after a nice hot shower, I'll get 4-6 hours where I can breathe, where I don't have to blow my nose.
    Maybe, I'll be able to do weights, push ups or sit ups.  Hey, don't look at me like that.  I only promised I wouldn't walk today.  Could be worse right?  Addicted to exercise?  He should be happy.  I could be addicted to buying shoes.