The Love Bug

Seeking some extra hours and extra cash, Lindsey and I signed up to work activity week at Nessie, an English-language preschool in Smichov. Essentially we watched kids play, guided activities, and occasionally played with them. Lindsey even went so far as to dress up for a few tea parties, and as soon as I figure out how to post that photo, I will. The kids were mostly from well-off families of various nationalities (one kid came in draped in Dior). Many of them were being raised bilingually and even trilingually. As I followed them around, and read to them, I could only smile dumbly as they asked me simple questions in Czech. Those bullies.

Anyways, we finished on Friday, and as Lindsey headed to class, I made for the flower shop to put together a little Valentine's arrangement. We had talked before about how neither of us were big into the holiday, but Lindsey dropped some hints that she didn't want the "holiday" to go by unnoticed, namely by saying that she would like some flowers. I planned to go one or two further by getting her a Czech substitute for Bernard and whipping up a mix of mostly old soul songs about love (which are not that hard to find). And so, I gave her flowers on Thursday, planning to space the rest of the gifts throughout the weekend.

Shortly after, Lindsey got sick. A full night of sick. Lucky for me, she woke up on Friday asking for ginger ale (which is like finding a dinosaur skeleton here) and a stuffed animal. I ran around Old Town looking for the two. Ginger ale, it became clear, would be impossible to find, so I settled for crushed ginger in carbonated lemon water, which was a lot better than it sounds. I also had to go to four toy stores to find a stuffed animal that was a.) not that creepy, and b.) less than 550 Kc. I spent the rest of the day at Nessie, checking in when I had a spare minute. I spent the night keeping Lindsey company, watching movies, and massaging her back, as our bed is less forgiving to the bedridden.

The fallout from Nessie was swift. By Saturday, two of our friends working there came down with the same bug. I was doing fine, and even schooled a few young Czechs in the ways of basketball on Saturday afternoon as Lindsey rested. She regained enough strength to watch a few episodes of AD and entertain a guest, Nick, before punching out at midnight. "Here we go," I thought to myself. "Turning a corner just in time. We might even manage a meal out on Sunday." Shortly after Nick left, I went to the bathroom and upchucked until morning. Funny story, I was infected too.

Now this was turning into a Michael Chrichton book. We woke up side-by-side, reeling from the flu. After hurling until I was sweating (and beyond) I was worried that if I couldn't keep any water down soon, we might have to learn some useful words for Czech hospitals. Luckily it didn't come to that.

Obviously the plans were completely scrapped. Our Champaign was tea and gingery lemon water. Our caviar was ramen. Our hushed professions of love were sickly moans and hoarse declarations that sounded like, "I don't fell well," or, "My stomach feels like I ate road kill," or, "I am going to take my vengeance on those little disease vials at the preschool."

Thus Lindsey and I spent the tail end of Valentine's day weekend taking care of each other while we lay in bed fighting off fevers, stomachs like live grenades, and feeling like chewed-up pieces of Prague garbage. All in all one of our more romantic Valentine's Days to date.