Celibacy, drugs, and rock n roll

I got carded tonight.
Buying cough syrup.

I rolled my eyes somewhat, at the cashier, and then stated, rather than asked, "You're kidding."

"Kids nowadays are gettin' high off it." This cashier had missed her calling, she needed to have the name "Alice," and be employed in a diner somewhere. Her hair was poorly dyed at home, and the eye makeup was not working for her.

I tried very hard not to roll my eyes again. "No kid needs to get high off of Robitussin. There are far more suitable substances available, without the hideous cherry flavor."

She told me, "They make that Meth from it."

"Yes," I told her,"I've seen the recipe." A revelation that did little to dispel her fears. "This is ridiculous, I only need succor from a persistent virus."

She required my birth date, and graciously consented to sell me the controlled substance.

My liver seems to be holding up well, despite the assault that cough syrup provides. I've bravely decided that a cold glass of white wine would ease my suffering sufficiently to compensate for the risk to my internal organs. I've always been courageous in that way.

This merry virus seems to be both infectious and quick. Everyone I've spoken with in the past few days drops to their sick-bed within 24 hours.
I'm still fighting it with regular Airborne, and cold medicine for good measure. In truth, it has not grasped hold of me firmly, but continues to dance at the back of my throat, looking for opportunity to pounce. I'm not quite sick, and not quite well.

As we left the aptly called "drugstore," I told the boys, "Just say 'no' to cough syrup."
As if they need to be told that. Neither one will swallow the stuff, no matter how sick they feel.
Perhaps I should employ reverse psychology. I'll tell them that the stuff is dangerous, and apt to get them high. Then it will have more appeal.

"Hey little boy, want some candy?"