Illness and Whitegoods

This post comes to you from the edge. From the very brink. I am suffering, I am on my death in bed.
Suffering from a chronic and life-sucking case of Man Flu, for women. Thank the Vodka Gods for Wifi.
How do I know it's man flu?  Because I'm exta whiney and all woe is me, why isn't everyone dropping everything to tend to me?!  The kids all have head colds too - in their usual caring and sharing way they've passed it on to me - only I have it much worse. Obviously. I feel super sorry for myself.  I am sicker than anyone else.  I surely warrant some killer meds and a few nights being waited on in a hospital bed. Not really, but as Man Flu dictates, I certainly wouldn't pass the opportunity up. Anyway I'm going to have to snap out of my Man Flu haze...because MY NEW BELOVED IS FINALLY BEING DELIVERED TODAY! I have not been this excited since I bought the Nespresso home. Or the time I found out about flavoured vodka. So I'm going to take a liberal dose of this:
...and then get down business and empty and farewell ye olde late 1980's fridge, cleaning under and behind it for the first time in over 17 years a while. Then I will freak out about future hand prints, door slamming, hidden vegetables rotting, sticky spillages and other such violations to my newest love, before it even arrives. I am a worrier, and a planned, advanced worrier if nothing else. Then I'll console myself with the fact that it makes ice and dumps it into the ice tray without me having to chip ice trays from the overly iced-up shelves, and then snap the bloody cheap ice trays while trying to lever the ice cubes out. It is going to be awesome. I may even maintain a coat of nail polish for at least 3 days without chipping it on said ice cube removal process. It's probably a bit sad that I'm this excited about a whitegoods delivery. Shut up.  I'm sick.