Friday, January 28, 2022

The Would-Be Killer Refines His Repertoire

I was sitting at the kitchen table Thursday around 2:00, when Hick came home bringing my daily DQ grilled chicken sandwich. I had just taken my first daily temp, hoping that the fever was going away. Nope. 100.4.

Hick bustled over beside me, and squeezed my shoulder in a half-hug.

"I don't think I'm ever getting better."

"Oh, you'll get better."

Hick put his ICY COLD HAND on my forehead! It was all I could do not to shoot through the ceiling. SO COLD!

"Well. Looks like you don't have no fever..."

"I don't know where you get that idea! I just took it. 100.4."

"Well, your head don't feel warm."

"I'm pretty sure it does, since I can feel the ICY COLDNESS of your hand!"

I don't think Hick is gaslighting me. I guess he expects a forehead to sizzle at the touch when there's a fever. He means well.

"Could you run some water in my cup?"


Then Hick set it back on the table, gripping it around the rim with his questionably-clean fingertips.


  1. Here's hoping you get well soon, though it may be hard with Hick around.

    1. Thanks. Hick is trying to help, in his own way...

  2. "could you run some water in my cup but wash your hands first?" probably wouldn't get the result you wanted. I guess after all these years a few grubby hand germs won't kill you.

  3. I hear there are pennies all over the state being scooped up while you are recovering.

    1. And scratcher jackpots are being won all willy-nilly.