My man is horrendously sick with what I can only assume is yet another visa-applicant-induced nasty virus.  Poor guy has been running a crazy fever, coughing, hacking like a maniac, and crying out in the middle of the night for me to take my temperature (Ummm, no, I think that would be you darling).

So, I’m pulling the Florence Nightingale routine, albeit without the assistance of a cute nurse costume.  Which means I am also horrendously tired (great practice for having a baby I guess) and riding that fine line between sick and well.  One of the benefits to having a perpetually sick husband this past year is that I never get very sick.  Something about kissing Sicky’s feverish forehead all of the time renders me partially immune.

But not completely.  Which is why I have no great blog posts for the time being.  Just a bunch of semi-coherent drafts dreamt up in the middle of the night while I’m trying to calculate if it’s been long enough since his last dose that I can drug Chris up with Advil yet again.

So until we’re all in a less sniffly, feverish state, I leave you with an opinion question that is near and dear to my heart right now:

Say you lived somewhere rather “quaint,” the sort of place one still needs to remember to bring their own toilet paper to use even in fancy mall restrooms, without access to nice restaurants or museums, etc, what would you do for a romantic night out on the town?  Leave responses in the comments, I’ll be taking notes! 🙂


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