Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

As hinted in the post below, ol’ Robbo started to feel what a former secretary of his used to described as “henky” last week.  Friday afternoon, I left the shop early, came home and basically stayed in bed until this morning.  Flu, don’t you know.  The kind that makes every joint in your body ache and all your muscles turn to jello.  However, I went back to work today, albeit feeling flayed and with that gravely voice that proclaims, “Yeah, I been sick”, but otherwise under my own steam.

My time out got me ruminating on a question that I’ve long considered regarding the relationship between everyday personality and bedridden same.  Well, not so much a question as an observation.

You see, Mrs. R, who is  a very outgoing type, on the very rare occasions in which she is confined to the sick-bed, loves to be pampered.  Tea, crackers, meds, fluffed pillows, companionship – she appreciates all of these, and the more the merrier.

Me? Well, friends of the decanter will already know that I am somewhat misanthropic, generally avoiding human contact whenever I politely and diplomatically can.  But when I’m sick?  Get the hell out and leave me alone!  All I require is peace, quiet, and, when I want them, tea and a good book.

As I say, just an observation on the exaggeration of general personality in weakened condition and probably not much of one.  On the other hand, are there examples of outgoing people who crave privacy when ill? Misanthropes who wish for lavish bedside attention?  I simply don’t know.

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