Sorry I’ve been a little MIA as of late. I’m STILL battling with this miserable cold; it’s been sucking the life out of me. Though, today, I was pleased to find that my eyes are a little less puffy, so I don’t look like I got into a bar fight over the weekend.
It’s the little things.
I worked at the makeup store on Saturday, and by the time my shift was over, my voice was almost completely gone. No matter how hard I strained to make myself heard, my voice came out as a whisper.
On my way home, I stopped at a drug store to pick up some cough syrup. The store was mostly empty, but as I came to the end of an aisle and turned toward the pharmacy, a little boy, maybe around five-years-old, came tearing in a full sprint around the corner and nearly ran right into my leg.
I looked down at him and smiled. He looked up at me.
“Oops!” I exclaimed, in my raspy, troll voice. “Excuse me!”
Upon hearing my voice, his eyes got wide as saucers. Then, quickly, he turned around and ran away, yelling “Mommy! Mommy!”
I scared the daylights out of that poor kid!
I was kind of embarrassed that I scared him, so once I reached the pharmacy, I quickly grabbed a bottle of medicine and headed to the checkout lane.
As the man at the counter scanned the medicine, he asked, “How are you doing tonight?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” I answered him, my voice crackling.
He froze mid-bagging and looked at me. “DAMN, GIRL!” he said. “You sick or somethin’?”
Great. If a sicky can’t even go to the drug store without being judged, where can she go?
Jillian Wyatt 