They need me!

I have the flu. This is miserable, but I console myself with the fact that I'm not nearly as miserable as Nemesis. I have my comfy queen-sized bed in a nice, quiet room with a locking door and attached bathroom. Also, my laptop works, enabling me to email, play games, watch movies, and blog. I have a phone with a pager on it that enables me to contact people outside my room whenever I need a glass of water or a cool cloth for my forehead. So you see, my situation is almost enviable. I am quite content. Except for the part where I'm miserable.

Anyway, the rest of the household is running wild. Who knows what they've been eating. One thing I do know is that my carefully-planned menu has been ignored. The odors that have wafted in have put me in mind of grilled cheese sandwiches.

Lola has had a friend over for the better part of two days, and they've done pedicures, made popcorn, watched movies, made jewelry, and drunk about a gallon of hot chocolate. When I ventured out of my room one time, I noticed that none of these activities have been cleaned up. I went back to bed.

Busboy was asked to take care of the dishes, take the garbage out to the street, and wipe off table and countertops. I think he put a few dishes in the dishwasher. The garbage can ended up out on the street, but was facing the wrong way, making it impossible for the sanitation engineers to collect its contents.

Daltonman has been glued to the TV for about sixteen hours, playing on his Wii. He may or may not have eaten in recent memory.

Daltonboy . . . has brought me soup and generally ignored the chaos. I think he's surfing for camera equipment on the Internet.

I asked Daltonboy to make me a mug of hot chocolate. Normally I don't partake of sugary treats, but 1) it's Christmas, and 2) I'm sick. So I asked for hot chocolate.

DB: A glass?

Gestures to indicate the quart-sized lemonade glass.

Me: No, just a mug.

DB (searches internal vocabulary database): Mug?

Me: Yeah, a mug.

DB (looks confused--he doesn't drink cocoa--or have any kitchen-type dealings, for that matter): Like that Disneyland one with my name on it?

Me: No, that's a stein. I just want a mug. The little ceramic thing with a handle.

DB (realization dawns): Ooooohhh. Right. Do I make it with tap water?

Me: Well, I'd prefer milk. I want the Stevens stuff. Lola can tell you where it is.

Lola: Oh, that's gone.

Me: Uh, yesterday it was completely full.

DB: You drank the whole thing?

Lola: Yeah, I guess so.

Me: That's okay. I'll just take the Nesquik, I guess.

Lola (to Daltonboy): That Nesquik is bitter, so you have to add extra sugar.

??

Nesquik? Bitter? Two words I have not heard used in the same sentence before now.

Me: Okay, that's it! I just got better. Getting out of bed now.

Sometimes I wonder about these people. I mean, it's not like they lack intelligence. And it's not like I wait on them hand and foot when I am well. But I do supervise. Closely. Because they seem to need it, bless their little hearts. And now I must page for some Tylenol and another movie.