The (apparent) flu bug that went through me and Da Boy like a hot knife through ice cream has landed upon the Hubby's head. Of course, he's supposed to work tomorrow, but he had the wisdom to call in sick. He's miserable (TRY getting him to admit it!) and said, "This is no ordinary cold." I just nodded sagely, because I'm still coughing. And Da Boy put himself to bed right after dinner, before 7pm. This...never happens. Yep, we're getting our asses kicked here.
Fortunately, he's got 11 days to recover, because he's got a week off after he was supposed to fly this shift. This month did not work out at all like he planned.
In writing news, I've moved the plot of the Giant Bugs story forward microscopically. However, that one's going on a back burner while I work on one for a writing contest from the AKC that the lovely and effulgent mermaidrain pointed me at. I just have to figure out (a) what to write, and (b) how to keep it under 2,000 words.
You know, I'm the one that writes funny werewolf stories. I shall ponder were-Poodles. None of your yappy little things; I'm talking Standard Were-Poodles. Or maybe Were-Brittanies... I can imagine the bird obsession.