Lindsay is 25 years old. She has a fever... and a headache... and the Chicken Pox. Oh, no.

Everything I've ever heard -- and it could all be old wives' tales for all I know -- is that the older you are when you get them, the worse they are.

They're in pre-burst, pre-scab stage right now, so I expect that the fun will start in about 24 hours. Ick. I'm almost expecting to hear one tiny explosion after the other as the pox holes blow up. Man down! Man down! Mayday mayday mayday!

I feel sorry for her. She's going to be itching like crazy. She's going to have scabs all over her body. Mostly I feel sorry that she's using PTO (Paid Time Off) for the pox. More sick days = less vacation.

By the way, is it mean that I'm calling her Poxy?

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Eric, what did you do with all your Vegas winnings? Oh... that. That all went towards boarding and vaccinating the Dee Oh Double Gees. We paid cash, friends. Cold, Hard, American dollars.

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Further proof that Eric is a Lazy Bastard, first in a series:

It snowed April 1, during the night. Eric did not shovel. It snowed all day on April 2. Eric did not shovel. He's pulling and hoping and praying for the Melt Method™ to come through for him. It's supposed to be in the 50's by tomorrow. :)

Melt, you bastard-snow! Melt!

Now that's mature.

Love you all,
Eric