Some things never change, you guys.
The sun will rise and set, the earth will tilt on it's axis, if we stop breathing we die, and when Dan is sick, he travels back in time to age 3 and expects to be treated as such.
Oh yeah... he's sick.
He has the sniffles.
He's pouty, whiny, miserable, and seemingly on his death bed. Not that it kept him from staying up last night to watch the World Series until midnight, but that only gave him an even better excuse to feel sorry for himself this morning.
He had to go to work.
And he's sick. No one in the history of work has ever had to go in sick, ever. EVER. Except DAN. AND IT'S SO UNFAIR, Y'ALL.
I'm sure we'll be holding a vigil around his death bed later tonight. Because I may or may not be forced to kill him.
And since he acts the same way every single time he so much as gets a pimple, I'ma do the lazy thing and repost last year's sick bed blog.