The Fever

Anne is still sick. She has a fever. Which means I'm going to get it. Eventually, we're all going to get it. That's something you all know. Fever isn't such a new thing. Fever started long ago. Pocahontas got it from Captain Smith.

The reason why she has the fever has also been revealed. She had Chinese on Monday. Not at Chan's. At some little ling-ting-tong takeout place in Marysville that's at one end of an empty strip mall. 

I know where that place is. Jesus Christ, I told her; there's an A&W right there, and a Long John Silver's, and a Burger King down the road -- you've got coupons -- and a McDonald's if that's what you must have, at least it's American food and they know what cleaning products are for. Why are you giving aid and comfort to the enemy?

From beneath the quilt emerged an arm, with a fist at the end whose middle finger was upraised. 

All righty then . . . you wanted Chinese. Now you're finding out that it has a cost they don't add onto the bill. Lesson learned the hard way. Oh, and by the way: when you ate it, did it meow or bark? 

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