I’ve been very sick this weekend — a combination of irritated lungs from the Weezer concert and getting taken out by a cold circulating at work. I visited home over the weekend.
I was lying on the hardwood floor, sandwiched between a rolled up rug and a vacuum. (That’s the sort of thing that’s comfortable when you’re sick, don’t ask me why.) Henry, being the sweetie he is, came and joined me for a few minutes, tolerating my sweaty presence to be nice and give me a cuddle.
“Anna?” he said, reaching out and giving my clammy hand a squeeze. “I can’t be your snuggle buddy. You’re on the floor and this is terrible.”
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