Friday, June 29, 2007

A Brand New Day. Quil.

Who knew? Who knew that my wonderful experience with NyQuil would turn me into a track-scratching junky? That it was just a gateway drug? That before I knew it, I'd be booking a one-way ticket to the Betty Ford Clinic?

In other words, I went out today and bought a bottle of DayQuil.

But it wasn't for me. Really. It was for my arsenal. The prevent-the-husband-from-whining arsenal, so when he complains, justifiably, that I have sullied our home with a foul, nameless malady, I can say, "Hey, quit whining. I bought DayQuil, didn't I?"

I also brought his clothes to the dry cleaner, brought his Netflix movies to the post office, and baked cookies. So he'd better not come whining to me about the revolting pestilence I've foisted upon our household, that's all.


  1. But did you wear rubber gloves and surgical mask when baking the cookies? A Hazmat uniform when going to the drycleaners? Did you contaminate the Netflix envelope? Will some poor bastard in Duluth, ignorant of Quils (Day or Night), happily receive his DVD, stick his finger in his eye, and wonder the next day why his head feels like it's been cast in concrete? Will the Poppy Pathogen spread the Buxom Blight across the land?

    And speaking of cookies, how many did Andrew eat?

  2. You gave me a great idea: NyQuil cookies.

    Sure, they'd taste terrible but so did those brownies we inhaled in college.


Gentle Readers:

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xxx, Poppy.