Plague Monkeys

Well, I thought we'd survived the snot-plague that my sister and nephew brought...we both went through some weird snorfling and feeling sort of icky. But over the weekend, we were pretty much ok.

Until this morning. The Adorable Husband spent the night roasting and sweating, and I woke up and quite literally couldn't make a sound. By noon I was squeaking like a demented chipmunk, and only now is my voice somewhere near the normal register. No sore throat, but complete laryngitis. Weird. And the cough is back. Oh, how fun.

So, I'm spending most of my time ensconced on the couch or recliner with a box of tissues and watching bad movies and the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show. I've come to the conclusiong that Tim Burton is a seriously disturbed person (based on Corpse Bride) and there is no real excuse for me wasting almost two hours watching Deuce Bigelow: European Gigolo. That's two hours I'll never get back. I have no idea what prompted me to put those on my netflix list. A few episodes of Reminston Steele and 21 Jump Street should be better. I'm having a ball now that a whole bunch of 80s television shows are showing up on DVD. C'mon, admit it -- you loved Miami Vice, too.

And, if you haven't seen Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit, hie thee immediately to the video store! Immediately!