Please don't bother listening closely, our menu options are exactly the same

There's nothing like a really solid cold to turn you into a fucking child. Sure, you can put on your suit and fancy shoes and take the big boy bus to your grown up job everyday, but you get a sniffle and a touch of flu and you'll be begging for soup and your mama so fast your graduate degree will spin. Between hand-maid-bell-service and half-seeing The Price Is Right through a foggy Comtrex induced haze, I remember that my junior high sick days really set the bar pretty high. Something about waking up at 1030 and pounding a few glasses of OJ before falling face first into a pile of fresh laundry (thus ruining said laundry with my germ-coodies) really made me feel like being sick wasn't half bad.

Nowadays, there's no fresh laundry - I send that out to the place across the street anyway.
There's no hand-maid-bell-service - unless you count having to buzz in the delivery guy with my $20 dollar Kleenex and Campbell's Soup order.
Worst of all, there's no Price Is Right - I mean, Drew Carey's doing his best, god bless 'em, but he's no Bob Barker.

All I'm left with instead is the all powerful leveling truth that being sick sucks. I'm not that bad off that I can justify cashing out 7 or 8 of my "personal days" hours at work, and since I don't yet run my own brewery I'm forced to clip-clop my way to the subway and into the office. A few Dayquil and some memo typing later though, at least I can run home to my delicious East Village Brewing Company favorites... right? Wait, you aren't supposed to drink when you're sick?

Sigh... oh well... I guess it's for the best. I mean, Brewmaster Marshall and I DID just finish brewing our next soon-to-be-fan favorite just this past weekend. Hell it's gonna be nearly a month before it's ready for you tastemasters to crack open and love. So, I'll rest up while that delicious booze making fermentation takes place. I'll drift off to sleep tonight dreaming of our double-digitly alcoholic Imperial Stout. I'll pitch over tomorrow at my desk wishing I could have myself some cheese and and cracker compliments to a tall glass of ale. And, more than likely, I'll pass out on a stranger on the 4 train wishing I could watch some Barker-run Price is Right with my favorite new Stout.

Guess I'll have to wait. For now... no drinking, no laundry naps and back to whining like a child...