Pariah in Postcards 4

I offer a very lackadaisical read this morning. As George’s common cold improves, I begin flaunting a similar version late Monday evening. You can hear my sneezes a mile away. My nose blowing sounds like a duck calling for its mate. I don’t believe they will want me at the discovery shop tomorrow for the pricing class or on Wednesday for the many books that arrived over the weekend. Bobbie tells me that not only am I high acid, but that my immune system is down. I don’t argue, but I remind her that I kissed him. My only excuse.

I remind myself that I am a pariah.

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- Himself: Worked all day with only a few bits of mushyness. Did the laundry too. - Herself: Got fresh pictures at the shop, hugged a deal lady there before I knew I had this cold, grocery shopping, fixed a simple dinner, and now am blowing my nose very unromantically. - Reading: A new to me Robert Crais. - Balance: Blowing my nose.