I Was Not The Life Of The Party

I’ve been sicker than a dog the last few days. Not anything serious; just the typical coughing, sneezing, pounding headache with a chest full of sludge sickness. So yesterday I wanted nothing more than to lie around sucking down Nyquil while watching football. What did I get? A Christmas party at my house… Yeah!

 
The party was planned weeks ago and it was nothing huge, roughly 15 people. As the guests showed up, they took one look at me and knew that I was ill. I assured them that I didn’t touch any of the food and then I excused myself to the basement.

 
Now don’t feel too bad for me. My basement isn’t like the dungeon that holds Sloth from The Goonies, it’s a finished basement. It has all of the amenities that a civilized human wants. There’s a TV, recliner, bathroom, and a couch. I plopped myself into the recliner, flipped on the football game, and turned myself into an exhibit for the guests.

 
All of the guests were family members of mine, so naturally they wanted to come down to see me. But they also didn’t want to get sick. One at a time they proceeded to come down the stairs, stop at the dog gate, and then they viewed me like you would view a fresh born baby gorilla at the zoo. I was the freak show from the carnival.

 
The few that ventured past the dog gate didn’t linger long. They would sit on the end of the couch, opposite of the recliner, and chat me up for a minute. Inevitably they would say something like “Well, I’m going to go up and grab something to eat” then quickly depart. My uncle was in such a hurry that he started to fumble with the lock on the dog gate, only to look back at me and take a high step over it. He was getting the hell out of there.

 
Our Christmas party is an annual thing and I do usually end up in the basement, but this is the first time that I was quarantined in there. I felt like the monkey from the movie Outbreak.

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