The Crud

Like many teachers this year, I'm ~this close~ to admitting defeat.

Carefully modeled hand-washing practices, eagle-eyed attention to who tries to skip past the sink on the way back out of the bathroom, heavy distribution of tissue boxes and liberal... no...obsessive use of hand sanitizer couldn't save me.

My head hurts.  It hurts to swallow.  My ears are clogged.  I'm sniffly and stuffy.  My patience is at an all time low.  To round out the experience, Murphy's Law has been hiding in the corner, watching.

Waiting.

When does everyone and their mother **need** to talk to me now-now-nownownow?  During the week I'm sick.  When do the Super Stars decide to experiment with and stretch the definition of appropriate forms of behavior?  When I'm busy trying to fight off germ warfare.  When do I get sick?  When it's time to host a party, bake for the staff and exchange valentines, of course.

So I give.  U-N-C-L-E.  Pass the ibuprofin, water, and Vicks.