Friday, June 25, 2010

Occupational hazard.

Something traumatic happened to me a few days ago. A baby sneezed directly into my mouth. To recount:

I work for a couple who both happen to be alumnae of my beloved institute of undergraduate study. Offspring total 2 boys. One 10-month old. One 3-year old. The 3-year old has learned that he can use food as quite the power brokering tool and has restricted his list of allowable foodstuffs to: 1) chocolate chip muffins/pancakes/waffles/cookies 2) "white milk" 3) chicken nuggets, though permissible only in the shape of dinosaurs 4) M&M's. Despite this, he weighs about as much as his little brother because he generally only picks ONE of the listed choices as his nourishment for the day. The baby, on the other hand, is quite the gourmand and can pack in more pureed organic produce than Gwyneth Paltrow allots for a typical week. Anyway, I zoomed a spoonful of organic pumpkin and banana toward what I THOUGHT was a smiling mouth. But I was wrong. Dead wrong. Time pixelated into slow motion. I leaned in across the high chair and smiled a big, open-mouth grin too. And then...

Boom. Roasted. I'm no germaphobe, but I already feel the beginning trickles of post-nasal drip that will inevitably lead to a sore throat and general misery. There is also probably more big picture life metaphors that I could draw out of my involvement in this unfortunate event, but I'll leave such soul searching alone for now and just go to Wegman's to buy some tea and honey instead.

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