I woke up this morning, went about my breakfast and second breakfast routine, and yet I felt too ill to properly enjoy elevensies. I was going to blame the parasite, and I stormed into the kitchen to get the melon baller to have it out once and for all.

But then I noticed the half-filled French press on the counter. That could only mean that Mr H did not make coffee in the coffee maker this morning. Yet I drank coffee from the coffee maker, and I wondered why it was cold. I just thought he must have made it earlier than usual. I’m not one to complain, so I just microwaved what was in the pot and added honey and soy creamer. The parasite is laughing at me now, saying “I told you so!” Except it most certainly did not tell me. It sat idly by, chortling, while I sipped day old coffee. Misery! I am not going to swallow Thanksgiving dinner. I am going to chew n’ spit. That’ll teach it. “Mmmm, isn’t this greenbean casserole delicious? Oh, you’ll never know. That’s too bad.”