Nothing gets by Gabby.
You can't plan for swollen tonsils. You just can't.
Or sick kids. Or car trouble. Or traffic jams. Or economic slumps. Or life turning out not as we envisioned.
You can't. You just can't.
Swallowing past a baseball isn't the worst detour I've ever encountered. Far from it. It only made me laugh. Sort of laugh. Sardonically snort, really. Nothing like living life with a goiter on the week you've planned your book launch party.
I call her Gabby.
Gabby enjoys hot liquids, warm apple sauce, and giving me dreams about being throat punched. She also likes ruining my entire book launch schedule, which I had planned for today.
I took off work to make it happen. I worked late hours to take off work. I cooked a huge pot of chicken soup to eat on all week so I could work late hours.
Gabby was not moved.
When I realized this wasn't a short-lived sore throat kind of thing, I knew I had two choices to make:
1. Obsess about how to salvage my plans.
2. Learn to be more flexible, reschedule my book launch party, and watch the next season of Downton Abby.
Guess which one I chose.