It may be news to you, but even I get tired of whining. Therefore, I’m not going to get into the reasons for the delay in posting a piece of blogging gold that was dropped in my lap this week.

Illness is not normally a cause for celebration, but this week Cheryl lost her voice. Literally over night our house was transformed. Imagine the difference between daytime talk shows and Masterpiece Theater… and you’re a long way towards appreciating my week. Until yesterday I didn’t even have to feel bad for Cheryl.

“Cheryl, are you sure you feel o.k.?”

“I feel fine, I just can’t talk.”

“Oh you poor, poor dear.” (YES!!)

To understand my callous comments, you must understand the house in which we live. Hard floors are great when it comes to spills, and a headache when it comes to shrieks. Sound reverberates through the house like a concert hall, and Cheryl always has plenty of feedback.

Alas, the good times are gone. It was bound to happen. What was once a cute case of laryngitis has spread to a full-blown bout with respiratory crud. I suppose this means I shouldn’t be picking on her anymore, eh? It goes with out saying that I’m showing questionable judgment posting this entry. Chances are I’m going to be the one that’s sick next week and I’m going to need every ounce of good will when I put on my little pity-me, sick-boy show. I may be many things, but I’m no martyr when I’m sick. I fully intend morph into a full-time couch-dweller; per my long standing, sick time modus operandi.

With luck she won’t feel like reading until she’s better… and by then I’ll be sick and she won’t have time to read.

Friends, I’m playing with fire.

I recommend it. It’s lots of fun. Just make sure you’ve got something handy to put it out, in case it gets out of hand.