The Frou is down

I am sitting alone at home on a bright and sunny Friday afternoon, feeling a tad sorry for myself.

Earlier this morning, I manage to drag myself out of bed (after a 16 hours slumber) and drove my sorry body to work. I did some research, attend a conference call, draft a few emails.... all by 11am when my Boss walk past and politely ask how I am feeling.

I turn around and that got him jumping a few meters back. Holding his arms over his head, he ask whether whatever plaguing me is catching.

I must have looked quite a sight. It could be the red patches around my face, disheveled hair, slumped-over body and an array of different painkillers spread over my desk. Apparently, and I quote him, I “look like shit”.

I describe to him the virus that is attacking my joints and the aches that is making me feel like a hundred years old. Still trying to (uselessly) shield his body from the supposed germs from my diseased self, he instruct me to go home pronto.

After he left, I stared at my PC. The screen has gone all woozy, or was it just my head? Ok, I will finish this email first, I thought.

Fifteen minutes later, he walked by again. “Why are you still here?”

This time, I slump over my chair and groan. This is difficult. I dread going home because I have slept the whole of yesterday and couldn’t stomach anymore motionless lying around. On the other hand, sitting in a hard chair at work is making my bones disintegrate. Not forgetting that disobeying a germs-phobic boss so near my mid-year review is a career limiting move.

“And bring that Japanese contract back with you. Read it in bed!” he barked.

So here I am in bed. I just threw up my lunch and I am at wits end what this virus allows me to eat. Dinner last night was no success either. After hearing that I cannot stomach food, Dailytoe has kindly volunteered to take over my virus. “So that we can be thin together!” she exclaim happily.

With friends like these….