I’ve been home all week nursing this flu. I feel a little guilty about being out of work for a week, but I know it was the right decision, for both me and my co-workers. It’s sick people like me who go into work and make other people sick, making viruses like this spread like wildfire. I like to feel like I’m helping put some of the spread to an end. Or, rather, at least keep it within my household. Sorry, wife.
On a completely unrelated other note, I had two adventures out into the real world today, both of which involved people sir-ing me. Now, I am no stranger to being sir-ed. I practically grew up being referred to as my mother’s son by strangers in public. I don’t actually even mind, as odd as that might sound. I did get a free coffee once out of it when a Starbucks lady apologized profusely after mistaking me for a man. I even had some therapy a few years ago, where I came dangerously close to transland, complete with picking out a prospective male name and all. Here in the Fall/Winter time, it’s no surprise that cold and rainy weather equals big coats and hats, thus increasing the chance of being sir-ed. Today, in store number one, a worker asked me if they could help me with anything, sir; in store number two, a lady warned her aisle-hogging husband of me, that fella behind him (me) trying to scooch by. As much as I don’t really mind, there’s something very weird and perverse about being sir-ed and pregnant. Maybe I should change the name of my blog.