Tim has been sick all week. I guess the Cardinals post-season finally took its toll. This cold/grippe/respiratory distress has been accompanied by an unusually foul mood. So foul that on Monday morning I might have said, ‘Isn’t it time for you to go to work already?’ (The burden of dealing with grumpiness rarely falls on my shoulders in this household.)
I’ve been trying to help, because I know that he must be feeling awful. However, I found especially poignant evidence of his illness just now, when I discovered a slice of American cheese, still in its cellophane wrapper, placed on top of the refrigerator somehow while Tim was making grilled cheese and chicken noodle soup for supper Tuesday night.
Poor guy.