Put a fork (or meat thermometer) in me, I'm done!

So. Barney is sick.

He's not laid up in bed sick, but sick enough to take his temperature with a meat thermometer.

Let me back up. I got home from the gym last night and James was in his lazy boy, watching TV, drinking a pina colada and eating leftover chicken wings.

(To his defense, I did just buy a blender that could quite possibly take over the world, and we've been dying to use it.)

As he was taking a sip of his drink, he told me, "I really think I'm coming down with something and should probably call the pharmacy and see if I have any refillable prescriptions that will cure an upper respiratory infection."

What, you didn't know he had an upper respiratory infection? Neither did we!

Since he'd been complaining the last few nights that he could no longer breath through his nose, I thought, well maybe he is legitimately sick or has the bubonic plague.

(Yes...I'm a tad dramatic)

I said, "I'm sorry honey that you're not feeling well, what do you need?" To which he replied, "Well, it would help if you could just cook dinner tonight."

(Since he was sick, I decided not to point out that I do in fact cook most of our meals.)

Instead, I pointed out that he was eating chicken wings and essentially drinking a coconut. He said, "Yeah...this is just to take the edge off."

Apparently James believes in the "feed a cold" theory.

Since we had some left over pork tenderloin, I cooked pork stir fry and delivered it to the patient in his big leather chair. After he picked at his food for awhile, he called the pharmacist and found out that he had a refill for something that may or may not cure what ales him.

Since we couldn't go get his medicine for twenty minutes, I started cleaning up from dinner. A few minutes later, he walked in the kitchen and asked me for the meat thermometer. I've learned not to ask questions, but it honestly never dawned on me that he would use it to check his own temperature. 

Once he found it and cleaned it, I realized what was about to happen. I said, "James, please do not poke out the back of your throat with that, it is not meant for human use." He said, "Well we don't have any other thermometers."

(Yes we do. It's upstairs in the bathroom.)

For those of y'all that are wondering, his temperature was 93 degrees. Very accurate for someone with the black plague.

I asked if he felt achy and he said, "only in my knees. but I did do 75 squats at the gym this morning."

Yes...I'll wait while you wrap your brain around that statement.