I'm on my second week of being sick with a really good influensa that I just can't shake. I don't need to go into details. Needless to say, after going to the doctor, having some bloodwork done, receiving new 'governmental sick leave papers' and delivering them to my boss, I went home and slept for another 5 and a half hours.
So I wake up, take some more Ibprofine and eat some of the dinner that my better half (especially at this point in time) and my kids ate for dinner. My better half, who has been up since just before 4 AM this morning asks if he can sleep on the couch for a bit, before putting the kids to bed.
The kids are happily addicted to Play Station. I agree to this.
So I'm flipping through the channels on the tv, wrapped in a wool blanket with hot tea. It's a sad state when one has over 100 + channels, and nothing is of interest. Not even Jamie Oliver is very entertaining tonight.
And the doorbell rings. 'Jeez-Louise!' I think to myself. Who in the name of Paradise and Lawn Clippings is ringing my door now? I don't even have any loose change if it should be someone collecting for the Cancer Foundation, Askøy Football Association, or some local high-school band arrangement.
There's a man out there, super blond hair and high cheek bones. Suddenly I'm aware that I'm wearing wrinkly pajama bottoms that have been used for a couple of days now, and a ragged army green sweater that I used to wear in Canada over 10 years ago. My hair is not yet brushed since I've woken up a few hours ago.
-- Is this number #%? he asks.
-- Yes, I say.
-- Are you Nicole? he asks.
-- Yes, I say.
-- These are for you, he says. And hands me this: