Out of Commission

So, weirdly enough, it would seem I have developed a form of midsummer's flu. I have no idea how it happened, but I believe that subconsciously, my body decided that once the year actually gets going, and school's back, and the extra-murals start, there won't be time for me to get sick, so it's taking its sick leave now, before the chaos of the new year starts.

So there I was, resting my fevered brow upon the armrest of the couch, when my two little girls, craving affection, descended upon my weakened frame. Hugs and kisses were offered in generous amounts. I tried to push them off me.

"Guys," I moaned, "please don't kiss me. I don't want to make you sick."

"Can we kiss your mouth?" asked T-Bird.

"No."

"Can we kiss your nose?" asked AirBear.

"No."

"Can we kiss your cheek?"

"Your chin?"

"Your forehead?"

"No, no, no. You cannot kiss my face."

Little downcast faces looked at me. "But why?"

"Because I'm sick," I explained.

"Oh," said AirBear, "it's because you're sick in your face."

"Yes, I suppose. Here," I said extending my arm, dangling my fingers to the floor, all regal-like, "you may kiss the royal hand."

They liked that. They kissed the back of my hand, courtsied and ran off to play fairies.