Two weeks.
That's how long I've been battling The Ick. Specifically, a sore throat. Which progressed to a sore throat plus nasal congestion. And last night, The Ick piled on aches and chills. My first-ever CD release party is tonight. Perfect.
While swaddled in blankets on the couch, I flipped to MeTV. The Bob Newhart Show was on. I used to watch it faithfully on Saturday nights in the 70's. Mary Tyler Moore, Bob Newhart, Love Boat, Fantasy Island. Ahh, the life of a socially awkward, bespectacled grade schooler.
In last night's episode, Bob's wife Emily wasn't feeling well. So he brought her a glass of juice. And a shot of bourbon. Bourbon! I don't recall Mike and Carol Brady drinking bourbon in bed. Bob and Emily, you were so progressive.
With just a few hours until call time at Off Broadway Lounge, I was desperate. So I hauled out my juicer, sliced and peeled 10 tangelos and made myself fresh juice. Then I grabbed a Flinstones jelly jar and poured a shot of bourbon.
"Cheers!" I chirped to my daughter Julia. She wrinkled her nose with distaste. But you know what? I feel better. I think.
On the way to the venue, I'm going to pick up Kleenex. I'll surround my microphone with hot tea, a bag of lozenges, the Kleenex and Chloraseptic spray. (Which by the way, tastes like bandages, not cherries.) And whenever my throat threatens to give out, bourbon! Bourbon, one and all!
Wish me luck.
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