Remember when I said Boyfriend made it home safe and sound? Well, he did, but at the time we were both operating under the assumption that he was in the clear, sickness-wise. Turns out, the Cold From Hell was incubating, laying dormant, waiting to strike. Oh, and strike it did. You’ve never seen a more sniffly and sad human being in your life. I made soup yesterday (SOUP. From scratch! Not a can!) for him, and kept shuttling glass after glass of Gatorade or orange juice and cup after cup of tea to the bed (gotta keep your fluids up!) and disinfecting everything in a 10 foot radius of wherever Boyfriend happened to be.
A few of you asked why he didn’t bring me anything back from India. India isn’t a place you bring souvenirs home from. You bring back diseases and a newfound respect for the First World, clean running water and sanitary living conditions. You bring back clothes that are covered in 30% Deet mosquito repellent, and the Cold From Hell. It was 95 degrees in India, and Boyfriend returned to temperatures below 40 here. Take that coupled with a 26 hour trip home, and it’s no wonder he has been laying in bed contemplating whether or not death is preferable to blowing his nose one more time.
I armed him with my small point and shoot before he left and told him to take lots of pictures. “Lots” to someone that was working 11 hour days in Bangalore equated to 4. Four pictures. Three of which were taken from the window of a cab, and one from his hotel the day he checked in (sans luggage, thank you British Airways) of a plate of macarons and mini-cakes because he thought I’d appreciate it. He knows me well.
I’m happy he’s home but pretty confident that I’m going to chain him to the water heater in the basement the next time he brings up potentially having to travel back to Bangalore. Fingers crossed this cold breaks early and he regains his will to live. It sucks to see him so sick, but it could definitely be worse. And at least he’s home.