Wave the incense and wooden crosses! Hurl a dead cat over your left shoulder! Poor Lickety has the Plague. She has swollen nodes and blackened gills. She is feverish and her lungs are covered in pustules. Her lips are cracked and blasted as she draws in choking final breaths.
But she is most pleased to be home from work.
Doctor Lambchop will be coming round to see her soon with a case filled with leeches, stomach lances and unguents. Please send lots of mylar balloons and little stuffed animals because she just loooves all that tacky crap. And a person ought to die happy, if they possibly can.