By Mary Garrison
It is a widely-known fact that when I get sick, not only do I turn into a regular ray of sunshine (there is a dire need for a sarcasm font, by the way), but I also regress about 20 years. No one can do anything right, except for Gabe — who makes it a point to love on me and tend to most of my needs when I’m feeling ill (one day, some very lucky woman will thank me for this) — and I tend to hate all things.
Oh, and I want my mommy. It’s funny, really, how no matter how old we get, the minute we get the sniffles all we can think about is curling up in bed with some of mom’s homemade soup. Somehow, they always make it better. I’ve learned to appreciate this even more now as a mother, myself.
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