Feel the Love

Pookie is gone for the weekend again. It's just as well .. she's not allowed to speak to me for a couple days. I'm not answering the phone if she calls either.

There are kittens where she is.

They are staying where she is.

They are not coming home with her.

They. Are. Not.

I know she'll try, 'cause I have the zombie rot, which is the precursor to the mutant zombie bubonic plague. I shoulda named that child "Petri." She brings home the most lovely array of mutant germies in the world.

So, now I have the zombie rot. I've been sniffling and snuffling and snorting and whining. There's been lots of whining. Petri doesn't care though. She just laughs at me. She's mean.

She was laying in my bed. My.Bed. watching tv. Amidst all my whining and groaning coming from the office, she went and made herself something for dinner.

Did she ask if I wanted anything? No, she did not.

Did she give me any sympathy whatsoever when I lurched into the bedroom, puffy-eyed, sniffling, sneezing, and coughing and said, "I'm so sick that even my hair hurts and you didn't even ask me if you could make me dinner?"

No, she did not. She said, "You're not too sick to go in the kitchen and push a button, mom ... and it's impossible for your hair to hurt."

*le sigh* Feel the love.

I guess I'm not getting the Oscar for best sick mommy performance, huh?

Pfft. I'm going back to bed now.

I have a mean daughter.

And my hair hurts.