When I was a kid it was easy to have sick days; I’d crouch over and hold my tummy and moan to my mother that I didn’t feel well, or I’d cough and sniffle while mumbling to her through half opened eyes. It wasn’t her fault, really, how easy she was; she had 4 kids, a business to run, and an otherwise clueless husband to look after. She was distracted and a couple times a year I’d take advantage of that and get really sick. She’d shuttle my brothers and sister out the door and off to school and tell me not to answer the door if anyone came knocking and to not go outside and I’d peek at her through the living room window while she got in her car and drove off then flip on the TV and have a day off. When I started boarding school, faking sick days got much harder; dorm advisors are much stricter than distracted mothers, but nurses, I learned, especially nurses around lunch time aren’t, so every few months I’d drop in “with cramps” and moan and hold my tummy and they’d give me a pass to sleep in the infirmary.
It’s been years since I’ve had to play sick but I still get in that mood, every now and then, when my week feels endless and my work load unbearable and all I want to do is moan to someone and have them pat me on the head and tell me to rest until I feel better, except now I just submit a form and presto, I have the day off.
And this is exactly what I did yesterday. P and I have both been working a lot lately, so together we took the day off and went roaming around our little island. We had a picnic and laid on the beach and got too much sun, drove through a little rainstorm, watched the sunset, had a couple of beers over a shared pizza, and cuddled on his sofa watching Top Chef till I, exhausted, dragged us both off to bed.