Good like Tebow

I’m beginning to think the best thing about living in England is that very few people know who Tim Tebow is over here. He must be mentioned in 90% of the facebook updates from American friends on my newsfeed right now (the other 10% are “going to bed now” updates).

Last week Scott had what turned out to be “just” a man cold and I was on tea patrol. This week I have a chest infection and Scott’s on tea patrol. But Friday he began to complain about a pulled muscle in his back (not from pouring cups of tea, I’d like to add) and I knew exactly where this would lead if I didn’t take control. So I introduced him to Tylenol PM.

He woke up at 11 am the next day, refreshed and pain-free.

“That stuff is good!” he exclaimed.

Don’t I know it! What I wouldn’t give for a solid hour of sleep! I can’t lay down for long without sputtering and coughing. Our bed has never been so uncomfortable and my pillow has ignored my pleas to do its damn job and hold up my damn head.

Before going to bed last night, I rummaged around in the bathroom for medication. I realized I gave the last NyQuil tablets to Scott. After digging through packages of Band-aids and bottles of expired vitamins, I had to accept the outcome of my selfless act. There was nothing left for me, nothing to help me get through another sleepless night, but a swig of Buttercup cough syrup and two chapters of the last book in The Hunger Games trilogy.

I have no photo to add to this post, but just imagine me Tebowing next to the bed, with empty boxes of NyQuil scattered around me. That should do it.

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