Of Cats and Breakfast
Tuesday, April 29th, 2003Monday was bad.
Bad.
I kept both Darling and myself up for a large portion of the night with my hacking and wheezing, so as soon as the sun was up, he proposed my going to the doctor like, now. That sweet man even called and scheduled an appointment for me – that’s what a honey he is. So, I ran off to clinic bright and early with hopes of antibiotics dancing in my head, only to learn that it was viral.
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Thanks for dropping by. I'm Meg, and I write offbeat stories about media and the culture that shapes us.




