A Simile-lation

[captainsblog]

Why, I wonder, did our culture come up with the term "sick as a dog" to describe my present state of rottenness? After all, every time I've ever seen a sick dog, they've been well on the way to curing the illness with a simple four-step process:



1. Eat grass.

2. Run tap at either or both ends, depending on condition.

3. Recycle results of step 2.

4. Find something chewy, stinky, or preferably both to chew on until better.



Sadly, none of these options are available to me. Lucky buggers.

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Cats take a different approach to illness, at least in their approach to mine.  Michelle, our female of the species, is so determined to be my BFF, in sickness and in health, that she thoroughly resisted all efforts to keep her away at the depths of my yuckiness last night.

I'd sequestered myself in here, covered in extra blankets and with the door closed so as not to disturb the other life forms as I knew I'd be up just about every hour on the hour with one complaint or another.  As this is totally unacceptable protocol, the cat proceeded to sit at the door and meow uncontrollably for close to half an hour before Emily relented and let her in.

Fine, I grumbled. Just don't lie on TOP of me, cat.

Naturally, she took this as her cue to lie on top of me. Repeatedly. Aiming for the sorest spot from either coughing or gardening. After about 20 shooing attempts, I cradled her into the crook of my arm, our usual compromise position, and... the little brat bit me. And then proceeded to the door and repeated her plaintive mews again, only to be let out.

Ultimately, the door was opened and we found an acceptable peace, but one of us is gonna be in the garage tonight if this happens again. I wonder what it feels like sleeping on top of a big pile of mulch....

----

Today's been a little better, though I haven't pushed the limits with more outdoor distractions. I'd hoped to find last night's Lost-explanatory program on the video website, without success, and wound up giving this new Traveler thing a try, which previewed last week and will take over the Wednesday-10 slot after next week's season finale.

If allyall SPN peeps didn't know (like THAT could ever happen;), Traveler is the latest effort by David Nutter, who apparently is also behind this other obsession. I thought it was well set up and I will probably just leave my DVR recording Wednesday nights until it jumps the shark. I had no problem with the main complaint I read on one of the show boards (about how improbable it was that nobody in New York would recognize these two undisguised and over-exposed terrorist suspects), since from my own experience, nobody in New York ever looks at anyone on the street anyway. No, what's mystifying me is, why the two patsies didn't get the Fibbies working on tracing Will's cell phone records and, through them, who and where he was, seeing how there are numerous calls from his mobile to each of theirs right before the big kaboom.  I know, it'll all be revealed that he covered these tracks as well as all the other ones, but that, at least, is the first thing I woulda done instead of going to my GIRLFRIEND'S APARTMENT (hel-lo?!? Earth to Agent Skinner! why didn't you have THAT flat under surveillance?) to try and find an old picture of the dude.

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With that hour in the can, I moved out to the main viewing station to watch the beginning of Helen Mirren in The Queen. Netflix sent the DVD the other day, and Emily started it last night while I was still in my majorest of throes. Just now, I got as far as the part where HMTQ is asked about all the flowers blocking the path at the Changing of the Guard. "Well, get rid of them," she snorts, leaving her long-suffering servant to suggest, erm, maybe we could move the Guard instead?

I'd forgotten that she gave in on that point, instead expecting her to say something like, "Heavens, no! They're my Guards! They NEED to be changed! Just like my nappies!" And that, sadly, put this old chestnut of an A.A. Milne parody into my head:


Inside the yard at Buckingham Palace,
Christopher Robin went down on Alice.
"Dear little Christopher knows his stuff,
At 'Trying the Beard' and 'Noshing the Muff.'"
     Says Alice

Inside the yard at Buckingham Palace,
Christopher Robin's still gobblin' Alice.
"One more time, then after lunch,
I'll reciprocate and 'Munch the Trunch.'"
     Says Alice

Christopher Robin is getting his knob in,
Alice is down and gobblin' Robin.
She won't say a word while 'Tonguing the Tool,'
"Cos it's rude to talk when your mouth is full."
     Says Alice

They're plating away at Buckingham Palace,
Alice plates Robin and Robin plates Alice.
They're laying down upon the turf,
"Nothing compares with a Soixante Neuf."
     Says Alice



The whole story behind that effort, along with some of its less obvious terminology, can be found here.

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Speaking of nappies, I'm feeling like another of those in the American sense of the word may be called forzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Comments

[bluesilverkdg.livejournal.com]

I think "sick as a dog" just describes the copious amounts of..ummm.."sickness" that dogs tend to display when they ARE sick.

Sorry to hear about your current condition. At least you have a loving feline to crush...err, keep you company! Feel better soon!

[headbanger118.livejournal.com]

Terribly sorry you are feeling poorly. Our smaller evil kitty, Holly, has no concept of sickness. Everyone is on this earth to play with her, and there is no calling in sick!

feel better

[roguepuppet.livejournal.com]

so sorry you are down. I hope you manage to get the required nappage and feel better soon.