Sick in Maine

You know how it goes. You plan for your vacation months in advance. Buy your tickets. Count the days of drudgery left until the joy begins. Telling everyone who will listen about your upcoming escape to [insert place of choice].

Then, the day before you leave your neighbor/friend/boss comes right up to you and says, “Man, I’ve got a terrible cold! Achooooooo!” Or maybe it’s the morbidly obese man sitting beside/ on top of you on the plane, hacking and coughing, and not into his elbow like he’s suppose to do. Either way, you are f#*%ed. Va-Kay ruined. Your pounding sinus headache and a nose that requires a tampon shoved up it to stop the dripping has eclipsed the sights of Boston and mangled the lovely countryside of Maine.

Can someone please get me another shot of NyQuil? I’m going back to bed until it’s time to fly home and go back to work. Cheers.

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