We are sickies

**Waaambulence alert***

After a long emotional weekend, spent in a conference room along with 100 plus others, all of us breathing the same recycled air, our immune systems puttered and sniffled their way to the snotty helldom. My throat feels as if some long-nailed critter has been living inside, and has been meticulously clawing his way out, piercing his long nails into my soft, sensitive flesh in his attempt to escape. Kyle on the other hand has a full-blown cough, and a waterfall of snot and the worst of the worst- loss of taste. Sick crazed tastebuds is something I rarely experience, but which happens to poor Kyle nearly every time he contracts a snotty illness and it is the bane of his existence. He LOVES food, he lives for each meal. When his tastebuds desert him, the look of despondency in his face is that of abandoned child, lost without his blankey even to warm him.

It reminds me of that time in Italy...

The last semester I was in college, we decided to study abroad in Italy. Through this program we visited many cities throughout the boot shaped country, including Venice, the self-proclaimed, "most romantic city" in the world. And it would have been, had it not been for Kyle's cold. Sitting in the outdoor patio, listening to the quartet play familiar romantic ballads, while the breeze twirled our hair and tickeled our neck, Kyle sat across from me, his nose Rudolf red from constant blowing with his tongue hanging out as he struggled to breath.
"Sweetheart what would you like to eat?" I asked trying to hide my disappointment at the lack of romanticism in his zombie eyes.
"It doesn'd matter, I can'd tasde anythingd." He said followed by a sneeze, and watering eyes, not from emotion, but from his illness.
"What about texture. You can still feel texture right?" I said trying to stay positive, but actually bemoaning our bad luck that this should have been one of our most amorous evenings of our relationship but instead of my sweet boyfriend, I was stuck with a snot-filled, bass-mouthed robot and he felt miserable.
"How aboud lasgnda?" He said dejectedly.

Later in the evening, he started to feel better and even regained some of his taste back, enough at least to share a gelato with me. As with everything unpleasant (most of the time), this too will pass.
Expect more exciting posts when the lava flow from our brains has dried.