The Ragu Cure

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So those of you who follow my twitter feed (@churchoferotica) will probably know that I have been feeling less than chipper the past few days. A sore throat on Tuesday turned into a a full-on head cold by Thursday morning, and I spent most of Thursday afternoon at work begging for someone to kill me.

The good news is that our company gave us yesterday off. The bad news is that the cold didn’t feel like taking the day off as well. By yesterday evening I was swimming in a disgusting heap of half-used tissues, empty packs of Dayquil and Benadryl, and glasses of half-finished orange juice.

Just the idea of eating was enough to turn my stomach, since my entire body seemed to have become nothing more than a machine to produce immense quantities of snot and phlegm.

But you know the old saying, “Feed a cold potentially lethal ragu spaghetti sauce, because it will flee your body in horror.”

For no good reason, I decided I wanted spaghetti for supper. Unfortunately, the only spaghetti sauce in the house was at LEAST six months old, and (as per usual) was only half full.

But when a casual look revealed no teeming hordes of fungus on the inside of the jar, I used it, in the hope that an as-yet-undiscovered antibiotic might be hidden inside, and it might do battle against the dastardly forces of Sickness and Fatigue.

VICTORY!

After further self-medication consisting of several bottles of Chicago’s finest microbrew, I retired to my bedroom. At nine o’clock. And I slept, off and on, until seven this morning. Where I woke to find myself, if not in the pink of health, feeling quite substantially better than I was the previous night.

Today has been spent baking for the family Christmas Eve get-together tomorrow (we might get snow!)

Wishing you and yours a safe, happy, and germ-free Christmas,

Alana

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