I get sick one day every year.
For that one day, I get a fever, nausea, and throw up while sweating it out under as many blankets as I can pile onto myself.
Then, the next day, I'm perfectly fine.
I have been like this since I was six years old, with only four exceptions: Three cases of unscheduled Strep Throat, and one case of unscheduled Stomach Flu.
I hate strep throat with an unmitigated passion.
When I was in high school, in the marching band, our school's football game was going to be televised one time, which was a momentous occasion, and the band was sure to get a couple of shots in.
On that same day, there was a Disturbed concert that my mom and I had tickets for.
I had been agonizing about which one to go to for months, and then, BAM.
"Fuck you," Strep Throat said. "You can sit in bed all day trying not to swallow too hard and wishing you were able to eat things other than bread soaked in chicken broth."