Musings from the Death Bed

You're dying from flu – spending your weekend in bed hanging upside down off its edge breezing like a fish out of water because that's the only thing that makes your head, and your stomach, feel better – yet your eyebrows manage to sprout themselves to caveman proportions. Where, you wonder, did they get the energy from to do this? Because you're pretty much turned yourself inside out a moment ago and now can only manage half a cracker. 

Of course you discover said sprouted horror several days later, when you miraculously wake up one morning feeling revived. Your first order of business is to schedule an emergency salon visit, and while you're waiting for the salon to pick up the phone you notice that you now need more than one service. But hey, you're finally feeling better and in a couple of days you'll be looking better (just don't leave the house until then). As you try to catch up with your life that ran away while you were hanging off your bed, all the while avoiding mirrors, you realize that you're starving because you're now the perfect size for a Chanel runway. And so you have a meal. Only your stomach asks: "excuse me, what is this? Food? Hum, no!" And you relapse back to hanging upside down off the edge of the bed. Yet, the eyebrows keep growing. 

At this point, on Flu Round 2, all you care about is to get better enough to make your salon appointment at the end of the week. You make a deal with your stomach, it gets homemade chicken soup and in return it lets you make it to your appointment. Stomach agrees. You count hours till your salon visit.

Finally, it's Salon Day! After very long 45 minutes, you're handed a mirror. You look at yourself and your perfectly groomed eyebrows and say out loud: "Hello, human!"