Send Her No Flowers

When I was about 14 years old, my mother introduced me to the classics. Okay, maybe not the "classics" one would expect to be called classics, like "Pride and Prejudice", "Gone with the Wind", and "Casablanca", but they were classics in their own right. From the first time I saw "Pillow Talk" starring Doris Day, Rock Hudson, and Tony Randall, I knew I was in love. I could watch any of the 3 movies that the three of them starred in together over and over again...except I don't very often have the time for that. Are you kidding? I still have upwards of 20 DVR'd shows I need to get around to watching...but that's another story. So, anyway, my mother introduced me to these movies, and I now have the complete set of them in a fancy purple case, that is almost too lovely to open. But that has little to do with my story...so I'll move on. One of the characters in this box set is the hilarious "George Kimball" played by Rock Hudson. Or at least...I used to think he was funny. You see, watching a hypochondriac complain of imaginary ailments is funny until you realize that you are living with one. No, not my husband...my daughter. You see, she is what my friend "Lady" calls a "Frequent Flyer" to the nurse's office. At least once a week I look through my daughter's school binder, only to find yet another yellow carbon copy form from the nurse with the appropriate information filled out. These complaints can range from a "sore spot on left side of head" (No, not a headache, a headache would indicate a real problem...she complains about sort spots on her forehead!) to "Under right arm tender from sleeping with Barbie doll last night...skin intact". Yes, these are the things I just know the nurse rolls her eyes about the second she sees Sissy walk through her door. "What seems to be the problem today, Sissy? Did your Webkin try to kill you?" If the occasional note were the only form of communication I had with the school nurse, it may not be so bad, but I think that she has begun trying to teach me a lesson. I don't mean to say that she is out to get me, because seriously... I'm not that paranoid. Yet. There have been no fewer than 3 times so far this school year when I have received a call from Sissy's school nurse to inform me that Sissy had a "fever". Over the phone, the nurse will use very serious tones when she states that Sissy has a "fever of 99.4" or a "fever of 100" and "she needs to be picked up right away." I will send my husband or a friend to retrieve the poor, nearly on her deathbed, child from school, only to have her walk through the door feeling as cool as a cucumber. Apparently my daughter has a super power. Not only is she a hypochondriac, but she's a hypochondriac with the ability to raise and lower her body temperature at will! Seriously! I take her temperature when she comes home with a "fever" to assure that Tylenol or Ibuprofen is necessary, and she will be an even 98.6. What the crud?! But of course, out of fear of infecting the entire school with her cooties, I have to keep her home until she has been "fever free" for 24 hours, which means the little phantom fever girl gets two days of vacation, while I get an extra kid to follow me around and ask me for stuff. Thursday was one of those days. Nurse called at about 8:30 to tell me to come get her, and since she couldn't go back to school on Friday (per the 24 hour fever free rule), Sissy had earned herself a nice long 5 day weekend, courtesy of Martin Luther King day, and her own spontaneous combustion. I just hope she can take a lesson from a fellow mutant with super powers..."With great power, comes great responsibility". Use it wisely, Sissy, eventually you'll just be the girl that cried "wolf" living in a rubber room...or I will.