My Captain is, at the writing of this, the Last Man Standing in our house. The rest of us are like the undead here. Zombies. Nasty smelling Zombies.
Critter and Varmint are down with a viral gastrointestinal bug from hell, and I’m out with the good ol’ fashioned flu. Not just any flu.
At any given moment in this house, someone is either coughing or vomiting or pooping or whining or crying. And the washer and dryer have been in constant use.
It ain’t been for the faint of heart.
It started Sunday at 6:30am, and has steadily gotten worse. At first I was the official Muck Collector, but I got taken out last night. My Captain, home since then, would usually be on shift at Fire Station 31 tomorrow, but he took one look into my pleading, pathetic, worshipful eyes, and decided against it. How could he leave me to care for a sick Varmint and Critter, when I could hardly even care for my own feverish self? He could not, in all good conscience. He’s a rescuer, after all.
Oh he may have WANTED to go to work. I have no doubt he is conflicted. After all, he’s got stuff piling up at the Station when he isn’t there. In the end, not only his duty to his family, but also his strong sense of self-preservation made him stay…..
…..’cause I would have killed him if he left.
With a spoon.
A dull spoon.
A dirty, dull, spoon.
I mean that all in metaphor, of course. I didn’t actually visualize it. Well, not EXACTLY. Not the dull part anyways.
So tonight My Captain had to fend for his own dinner, sadly. He thought a grilled cheese sandwich sounded good. But so did a hot dog. He couldn’t decide; and as necessity is the mother of invention, he created a new entrée for this house.
Behold the new Grilled Dog Cheese Sandwich.
We should have thought to spread the halves apart so you could see the gooey melty cheesy center, but even without it, you can just imagine the yumminess, can’t you? All crunchy and hot on the outside, and all cheesy on the inside.
It’s a lot like me if you think about it.
Wait, that sounds wrong. Forget I said that. Move on.
So he’s added this awesome sammy to his arsenal for this particular sick family zombie apocalypse. He’s ready for us, the half-un-dead, waving his grilled dog cheese yumminess in front of our nausea-filled faces. Like Tallahasse in Zombieland.
But without the Banjo.
It’s genius, really.