When I was in second grade, a plague came down on our house. I got the chickenpox. In those days, a public health nurse came to your house and put up a big sign on your door stating that you were under a quarantine order. You were not to leave the house and could not return to school until every mark was gone from your body. For me that took three weeks and five days.
As you might imagine, the situation burned Mary. She was furious and took it out on me because I had cramped her style and inconvenienced her. So much for the sympathy vote.
I think she was afraid to leave me alone for fear someone might notice and condemn her. She was supposed to give me baking soda baths and rub calamine lotion on the pox marks. Instead, I did the best I could and tried to take care of this myself as not to incur her wrath once again.
I bit my tongue on several occasions wishing to say, “Hey! This is no picnic for me either!” Did she honestly think I wanted to stay in the house with her for 26 days straight?
Luckily, I was able to return to school and get away from Mary. And she was able to return to the all important Scrabble Tournament of Champions at Marge’s.
While I was at school learning how to spell, Mary was happily using her tiles to earn double bonus points.