Yesterday afternoon I came down with an awful sore throat and a fever. I coughed my way through an orchestra concert - a sadly misguided 'Holiday Festival' with bad arrangements of Christmas songs and lots of lip service paid to Kwanzaa and Hanukkah by overly dramatic narrators who thought it necessary to compensate for the fact that 98% or more of the good 'Holiday' music in the world is, in fact, Christmas music, much of it overtly relating to the birth of Christ. Really, how dreadful.
Last night after the concert - which FavoriteBoy loyally attended - I could barely drag myself up the stairs to crash on the couch. FavoriteBoy got some blankets and tucked me in, and then bravely ventured into the kitchen, where he rummaged in the cupboards and found a Lipton onion soup mix. He thoughtfully prepared me some wonderful soup and served it to me in a mug, and we watched a movie together. What a wonderful husband I have! And I didn't discover the brown results of his soup making experience spilled all over the stovetop until this morning.
I guess the sympathy for my illness is wearing off, since he just asked me, "Hey woman, why don't you make me some dinner?"