Funny, You Don't Look Fluish

The only thing worse than getting the flu on your vacation is having your husband get the flu on your vacation. At least when you're the patient there's plenty to do, what with all the coughing, sneezing, moaning and complaining. And let's not forget the whining. But when you're the spouse and you've got to listen to all that and also tend to the sick one's every need, ferrying a never-ending supply of possible remedies to the sick bed, including but not limited to water, lozenges, chicken soup, tea with lemon, tea without lemon, tea with honey and lemon, and food that might be appealing but never is, plus the prescription medicine every four hours that must be taken with food to avoid nausea but since they they won't eat they get nauseous, it sucks.

 The Innocent Bystander/Nurse role is a drag under any circumstances, but when you're in a Florida hotel room and the ocean is right outside your window and you can see all the happy people cavorting in the sun and surf and riding bikes and jogging and rollerblading in bathing suits while you're stuck inside checking someone's temperature every twenty minutes (or if they are particularly neurotic, every ten minutes), it's much worse, especially when you'll be returning home to Maine and piles of snow whenever the person can haul himself out of bed and onto a plane.

Looking back I'm certain that if the wedding vows were, "In sickness and in health, even while on vacation," I might not have been so quick to agree.