Airborne Can Go to HELL

My husband almost died this weekend. Well, maybe I am being a little dramatic. This flu has made itself right at home among our bedsheets and doorknobs. My husband, the 300 pound offensive lineman, had a temperature of 104.4 and was so deleriously sick that I had to try and fit him into a bath of ice. Cold towels, ice cubes, and lots of Tylenol later, we brought it down to 101. God only knows what would have happened if the bathtub were any smaller. Of course I have done nearly everything short of moving out to keep from getting it, but last night I felt that tickle in my throat. You know, the one that lets you know it's too late to inject Airborne and you've been defeated. This morning I rolled onto the cat as I flopped out of bed, and barely made it to the shower. Now I'm at work, hopped up on Sudafed. Where is a vial of oil when you need one? While to some, blessings by the priesthood are phony. (I.E. You crazy non-members.) But I have seen the blessings that can arise by a simple visit from the elders, and I am here to say that I would very much like to partake in one of those about now. If they can muster the courage to show up.