Sunday, February 13, 2005

Now. If I Could Just Have that Cool Mind-Reading Skill Bruce Willis Does In the Movie, I'd Be Set

Me and Bruce Willis: We're Unbreakable.

I'm telling you. For one reason or another, I've been blessed with quite possibly the greatest, most indestructible immune system known to allllll mankiiiiind (echo...echo...echo...). I am so convinced of its indestruction, in fact, that I don't even feel compelled to knock on wood as I sit here bragging about it. And if I do get sick tomorrow, well, I had a really good run, so I won't complain.

I'm starting to feel a little left out, though. Yesterday in spinning, everyone was talking about how they got the flu that's going around. "Oh, it's awful. I had a fever! I couldn't do anything!" Everyone had a story. Except me. Every year it's the same. Even when Trish and I were roommates in college and she got strep throat, I never got it. When the Mr. gets sick, I can kiss him all I like, because I never get what he has, either.

All the cool kids get the flu, and I get to never call in sick. I can count the number of times I've legitimately called in sick on one hand (not counting hangovers, natch), and I'll even spot you two fingers:

1) In 1992, I had an inner ear infection that rendered me unable to walk without barfing.
2) In 1997, I had a cough so bad that I couldn't talk.
3) In 2001, I woke up having dizzy spells and feeling nauseated. I blame Dr. Atkins for that.

Once a year, I do get a cold that lasts for about a week. That doesn't really count. If I can go to the gym with it, it isn't really called "being sick." My best guess is that my immune system comes from dear old dad. Mom gets sick about as often as a normal person does, but dad only ever seems to get colds.

I never really get hurt, either. In Hawaii in 1991, I was relaxing in the ocean with my back to the horizon (I later learned you should never do that, dumbass). People began shouting and pointing at me. I turned around just in time to see an outrigger barrelling toward me, and the guy steering it looked terror-stricken. I hurriedly swam back toward the shore, but it wasn't far enough and as the outrigger slowed and turned, the back of it whacked me on the head and pushed me underwater.

That would kill a lot of people, right? I didn't even get a concussion. Not even a headache. The only thing I got was mortification after the cute surfer came up to me and asked if I was all right.

Don't get me wrong, I don't want to get too sick or hurt, but it's a little creepy, isn't it?