Shingles

I have an appointment at 2 pm to see if my self-diagnosis is correct: shingles? I fit the description of the symptoms and the breakout is right at my pudgy waistline. Come to think of it, skin pain at my waistband could result in a necessary loss of weight to give me more room in my pants . . . or, wait . . . I could get bigger pants.

Fifty-five years ago this very season, I had a heck of a case of chicken pox. They combed scabs out of my hair, shook them out of sheets, and swept the floor behind me as I walked. I was covered with those poxlets. I am hoping there is no correlation between the severity of the chicken pox adventure and the foray into shingle land. Well, that’s not accurate – I wouldn’t mind a correlation of indirect proportion.

And, oh, here is a little secret we need to keep from Der Bingle: We knew where Bing and Otter were, but we also knew they were dirty . . . and now they are getting washed.  Ah, I think little giggles are forming behind our lips. Yes, a lot of heehee fermentation going on . . .

Should we do a before picture? Maybe.

Bing and Otter.

UPDATE:

I believe Otter took it well . . .

and now he’s finishing up –

Now it’s time to go check on Bing

Oh . . .

Well, it will probably work out okay. Also, I went ahead and plucked Otter from his perch and tossed placed him comfortably in the dryer with a fabric softener sheet. Gee, I hope I remembered to put him on the gentle dry cycle with the moisture sensor engaged.

Anyway, yes, I do have shingles, although I think I am going to start referring to the condition as “the shingles” – I’ve got the shingles, dontcha know. And Valtrex is my friend.

Uh, I’m going to check on Otter now . . . and Bing.

Hmmmm . . . maybe Otter needs another go round. Oh, was that a pun? I’m certain it was unintentional.