One of my colleagues has been dragging herself into the office for a week despite sniffling and talking like she's doing a bad Krusty the Clown impersonation.
Whereas I went home because I was dizzy. What a princess.
For an hour I lay on the floor with my feet on a chair reliving every bachelor party hangover I've ever had. I was nauseous and the room wouldn't stop spinning. When I tried to open my eyes and focus on something my eyes would slip off the object.
Tracey was really concerned. She fluttered over me in a manner that made Florence Nightingale look negligent. But not all her fussing was well received - she wanted me to go straight to the doctors.
"I don't want to go to the doctor yet," I whined from our bed, my eyes clamped shut and my arms outstretched on either side of me so I wouldn't fall off the Earth. "I'm pretty sure it's some form of migraine. I'll see how I feel tomorrow."
"Don't you die and leave me with seven kids! Don't you dare!" Nothing inflames Tracey more than me trying to get out of helping around the house.
"You'll be right. My life insurance is up to date," I told her.
I expected a thump or another verbal slap, but nothing. After a couple of seconds of silence I risked falling off the world and opened an eye just in time to see Tracey heading out the door.
"Cool. Well, good luck then," she said over her shoulder, closing the door behind her.
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