I stayed at home today languishing in bed. As every parent knows, you must be a death’s door to stay home when you have children rather than go into work. I was going to go in but I was up half the night coughing and Mr. Waffle forbade it which I found rather pleasing though you would think at 44, I would be capable of deciding myself rather than wanting my husband to write a metaphorical note but so it is. I am better but not better this evening, as my mother would say. Nablopomo is killing me this year.