Friends, don’t be jealous, but I’ve spent the last few days at a very exclusive resort. It’s invitation-only, painfully difficult to get into, and while the room service isn’t exactly five-star cuisine, I did have staff at my disposal 24 hours a day, and all the clear liquids I can drink. (Except vodka. They frown on that.)
Because I generally think SMC should be a happy, shiny place (who wants to read a depressing style blog? Not this guy.), I don’t often talk about the less-glittery, really-real reality of life. But Victoria reminded me recently that maybe we should all try to be a little more “real” out here in the interwebs, lest you go around thinking the road I travel every day is paved with rose petals and free nail polish.
So, I’ll tell you. For the last
too many few years, I’ve had a rotating circus of nebulous, annoying, uncomfortable, but not-at-all-life-threatening health problems delivered to my door by the powers that be. When you notice I’m not my usual chatty self on Twitter, or I miss a few days of blogging here and there, it’s probably because I’m on a little health holiday. My system has a funny way of being pretty insistent about its vacation time.
Rather than bore you with the gory details (except to say I’m fine, don’t worry, but feel free to send pretty things and happy thoughts), I thought I’d put some of this expertise to good use. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned after all this time, it’s what to wear to the hospital. Read on