Early this morning, I went outside for the first time since Saturday. I, like every other Torontonian, have been fighting a bug that seems to have taken up permanent residence in my body. Headaches. Night sweats. Insomnia. Lethargy, weakness, nausea and congestion. Not pretty.
I even took a sick day on Tuesday just to sleep and drink lemon ginger tea. Oh, January.
Today I went outside — but only because I had a dentist appointment.
Note to self: a dental visit should not be your exciting outing of the week. Next time, venture outside to do something slightly more awesome. Like buying tilapia on sale or something.
I was running late, but somehow managed to arrive at my destination with 30 seconds to spare. Except...it wasn't there. The dental office was a restaurant. I was so confused. Overwhelmed. Stressed. Tears started welling up.
I called the receptionist.
"Didn't you get the email last summer? We moved."
"But then why is 'First Canadian Place' still in the email you sent last week if you're no longer at First Canadian Place?"
"We're still using the old name."
The kind woman gave me directions to the new office. It was somewhere else in the PATH, Toronto's confusing underground labyrinth.
I got lost. Very lost.
I called back.
"I think I'm now in the CIBC building."
"You should be in Scotia Plaza. Use the stairs in the food court."
"I am in the food court. The wrong one."
I eventually found the new location, but my cleaning session had to be cut short by 20 minutes.
"Your dentist doesn't come in on Thursdays. So she can't see you."
Then why did you book my appointment?! Sigh. It's just as well. My body can't handle...anything.
The hygienist was chatty and lovely. She even gave me future parenting advice:
"You can bring a baby to the pub for the first six months if he's in a car seat."
And because I don't have insurance — "It must be true love if neither if you has insurance and you still got married" — she gave me two toothbrushes to take home.
"Your hubby counts, too."
By the time I was on the subway heading home, I was soooo over this idea of "going outside." It's not worth it.
I arrived home just as Matthew was leaving for work. (Told you my appointment was early.) I recounted my story. Dramatically.
Matthew put his hands on my shoulders, looked me in the eye and offered words of comfort:
"If you were a mythical creature, you'd be a hobbit. You want to live happily in your little hobbit hole."
And then he left for work — and I poured Carolans into my coffee.
Hobbits nap after second breakfast, right?