Anyway, I'll give you a microwave version of what went on. I was going to write a whole post about the time Beatrice answered the cell phone in the dining room in the middle of dinner. Beatrice is hard of hearing. The person to whom she was speaking was evidently hard of hearing, too.
"I have diarrhea," Beatrice said to the caller. The caller obviously didn't discern the word. "Diarrhea! DIARRHEA! DIARRHEA!" Beatrice screamed.
A few people sitting nearby didn't blink because they were hard of hearing, too. The others went right on eating their dinner. I walked away from the table, and I was sorry about that, because we were up to dessert and the scrumptious pies usually served there are terrific. But I had no appetite. Diarrhea indeed.
And there was the time that two aides got in a verbal fight over whether they should serve chicken soup broth to a vegetarian. It was the height of the argument.
"You can't see the chicken because it's fuckin' broth!" screamed the one aide.
"Chicken is meat and vegetarians don't eat no meat!" screamed the other.
I didn't get involved, but I had my opinion, too. Chicken is meat. I'm just sayin'.
A few other posts were in construction, but I am calling this post the final chapter in the mini-series because it is. I'm feeling depleted of energy from the virus. I have rashes on my extremities, the "d" word (Beatrice would love this post), vomiting, stomach pains, fever, and nausea. If I were to take a guess, I'd say it was the norovirus. Same symptoms, same misery.