Watery eyes, check.
Runny nose, check.
Fever and chills, check.
Yep, I'm a sick boy.
There's an old aphorism that says grown men revert to little boys crying for their mothers when they get sick.
Well, I want my mom.
I want chicken soup. I want orange juice. I want her to check on me as I sleep and tell my clients that I can't come to work because I'm sick and need to rest.
Pfft. This is what I got:
Mom: When you're better, get vaccinated against flu and H1N1.
If there was ever any doubt where I got my sardonicism from, look no further.