GATORADE AND RICE

I've got the flu something awful. When I'm really sick, as I have been for the last two days, the first thing to go is my appetite; I completely lose any desire or taste for food. And this just adds to the bummer of being sick, because I do love eating so much and if I can't take pleasure in it, well -- let's face it -- I've got NOTHING!

I'm an adult now, and there's nothing sadder than being an adult when you're really really sick. It's not like my mom is going to make me my favorite sick-meal: toast with jam, English Breakfast tea, and, as I start to develop more of an appetite, some chicken soup. And even though I could, with little effort, stick some bread in the toaster, put a kettle on the burner, and open a can of Campbell's Chunky, I just know this self-made sick-meal would be only a disappointing approximation of the kind my mother used to make for me. And it is, for this reason, that I don't bother.

Instead I call my older brother at 10pm, and ask him to bring over Orange Gatorade and a seventy-five cent packet of gas-station Tylenol. He's very sweet: when he arrives he's brought me TWO Gatorades, and TWO packets of gas-station Tylenol, which entitles him to the RAIDING of my pantry and refrigerator. "There's NOTHING to eat!" he says, with food in his mouth. He very quickly leaves, and I very quickly order chicken baked in rice from the only Chinese restaurant I trust for delivery. That Chinese restaurant is called Yummy House, and while it may not be my mother's house, it certainly deserves its name.