Crappiest Birthday On Record

Anyone who tells you that chicken pox is a childhood disease is full of it. Very, very full of it. Just as anyone who tells you that if you had the virus as a child, you cannot get it again as an adult is a filthy whore liar as well.

Fact: I had chicken pox as a child, though it was a mild case.
Fact: I have chicken pox right now and am no longer (physically at least) a child.

How did I get it? From my own mother. Thanks mom! Happy fucking birthday from you to me, huh?!

Must. Not. Itch.

The dreaded symptoms began while I was out of town, celebrating my beloved's birthday last week. The clever virus disguised itself as heat rash, with the fever falling into the category of a mild sunstroke (considering I was outside all day that day it is not a bad assumption to make). By the next night I knew it was something else entirely.

So what did I get for my birthday yesterday? A trip to the doctor's office along with two weeks of unpaid leave from work! And what paid for my uninsured, blistered butt to see the doctor? Yes, that's right, kiddies: the money that would have been used by the family to get me a birthday gift. Here is the icing on the cake: the person that gracefully imbued me with this adorable little virus couldn't even be bothered to show up to see me. She was too busy visiting other relatives.

So just like that this year tops the list of worst birthdays ever.

Just.. kill me now.