Demon of Unspecified Origin

This cold has a demon in it.

A teasing demon.

It loves to lead you on, let you think you’ve got it licked and then *BAM* you’re flat on your back under a mountain of toilet paper (because the tissues ran out DAYS ago) coming to the awful realization that if Chewbacca and Rudloph procreated, the offspring would look exactly like you: hag-haired and raw-nosed.


My son sat across from me at lunch (for which he insisted on Top Ramen sprinkled with freeze-dried blueberries, and who am I to deny nutrition? and creativity?) and said as he pulled a long hair from his noodles, “Too much hair, Mom. You need to cut it.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I shrugged.
“Not maybe,” he replied without missing a beat.

And that comes just days after his older sister brought me a brush and said, “Here. It’s like… a tangled mess.”

Handle that business, Mom, instead of letting it handle you.

The good news is, I woke up feeling better. But I don’t trust it. I know this cold too well by now.

As I said, there’s a DEMON in it. And I’m pretty sure that demon works for Halls’ Cough Drop company. Or Star Wars. Or Santa.


  1. I’m not sure what your shirt really says, but it looks like it says “Porn Kill”– which is pretty cool. If it really says that, that’s awesome.

    I love that you’re blogging again!

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