Let’s Share Our Virus with Grandma!

You know that old saying: What goes around comes around? Well. Miss Crankypants is living proof. Exactly one week ago she bravely signed on as caretaker for her adorable 15 month-old grandson, who had a snotty nose and a hacking cough.
This week, guess who else has a snotty nose?
Miz CP used to believe that moms were always the last in the fam to get sick. She now is revising that maxim to grandmamas. Everyone else is on the upswing, ‘cept for old G-Ma.
Now Gramsie’s battling the hacking cough. And she’s not nearly as cute as the grandson. In fact, her bark sounds something like an Elephant Seal who’s been rudely awakened from a nap. Miss CP is NOT a happy camper.
Some people are ideal patients when ill. They smile and say, “Oh I’m just going to lie down awhile.” And they do and you never hear another peep for the rest of the day.
Not Miss Crankypants. She moans. She whines.
She yells for somebody to bring her a stiff drink. Her nose gets crusty and her eyes are glued half-shut. She has serious bed hair and hasn’t been out of her pjs for days. Anyone who dares ask if she feels better will get the Death Stare. That’s Miss Cranky’s version of ShareVirus.
Why is she so cranky?
Could it possibly be because her significant other (aka husband) meets her carping with, “You feel bad? You don’t know bad. I feel ten times that bad. A thousand times worse.” He clears his throat loudly.
Miss Crankypants will fix this guy. She’s scheduled a convenient meeting for Grandpa with snot-nosed, hacking grandson. As long as we’re sharing, let’s be fair. Now. Pardon Miz Crank as she blows her nose.

About Linda S. Clare

I'm an author, speaker, writing coach and mentor. I teach both fiction and nonfiction writing at Lane Community College and in the doctoral program as expert writing advisor for George Fox University. I love helping writers improve their craft and I'm both an avid reader and writer of stories about those with wounded hearts.

2 comments on “Let’s Share Our Virus with Grandma!

  1. I think we need to dump our dear Hubs when we’re sick and move in together. I would pamper you and bring you soup and tea and mop your fevered brow.

    If my husband is sick, he’s dying. Zero to sixty, just like that. He wants nothing from me but to be left alone. Let him die. Don’t try to make him comfortable, don’t bring him food, don’t pay any attention to the moaning lump on the couch. My theory is, that’s how he was treated as a sick child.

    Me on the other hand, bring on the lovin. I want to be surrounded by my loved ones. I want to know people care. Plump my pillows, bring me chicken soup, make sure the remote and phone are within reach. So around here we treat each other as we would like to be treated. You know that adage–do unto others….

    I’m almost well, Miss CP, would you like me to come take care of you?

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