T-to-the-A

Missing Shel Silverstein

In The Daily Drool on October 27, 2009 at 3:24 pm

My temp job involves pens.

Pens that have in all likelihood been in the mouths of the young people using them.

They don’t think to wipe them off… they don’t even think to NOT put them in their mouths in the first place.  I mean, these are OUR pens, not theirs.  They don’t know where these pens have been.  (In the previous class’s mouths, I promise)

And while they started as lovely white pens only 3 weeks ago, these pens are now brown.  So when I pick up, place on a clipboard, or otherwise deal with these disease ridden sticks, I make a stop at the Purell table.

But something got through.

My eyes are itchy, my nose is running, running, RUNNING, and my throat is scratchy and red.

So in honor of the semi-conscious cootie crawl from bed that I did this morning…

SICK, by Shel Silverstein

“I cannot go to school today,”
Said little Peggy Ann McKay,
“I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash, and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I’m going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I’ve counted sixteen chicken pox
And there’s one more–that’s seventeen,
And don’t you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut, my eyes are blue–
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I’m sure that my left leg is broke–
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button’s caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle’s sprained,
My ‘pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb,
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow’s bent, my spine ain’t straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is–what?
What’s that? What’s that you say?
You say today is—Saturday?
G’bye, I’m going out to play!”

(I hope I can go out to play by Saturday!)

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