World's Stupidest Conversation

Got a lot done on Friday -- unpacked, did a bunch of laundry, got out to the grocery store, bought some Passover food, got a massage, bought a present for Peggy's baby shower (on Sunday).  Came home and crashed on the sofa.  Stayed up until 2:00 a.m. for absolutely no reason (wasn't jet lag -- I was tired and could have gone to sleep).  Started feeling perhaps a little unwell.

Saturday confirmed the unwell feeling.  Thought I'd try my tried-and-true method for pushing the illness straight through to the "breaks into a cold" phase as fast as possible.  Many, many, many, many fluids.  (a.k.a., "let's pee the germies out")  This has worked for me a few times, but it isn't something I can bet on.  I'd hoped that if I got out of the achy (possibly feverish) phase into the feel-fine-but-sound-horrible phase, I'd be able to make it to my sister's for pre-Passover dinner tonight, and drop by Peggy's baby shower to drop off the present (without allowing my germies anywhere near her pregnant self).

Woke up this morning knowing that this plan had not quite been successful.  Still felt achy and ooky.  Called sister to cancel on dinner; called Peggy to cancel on shower.

My mother called me a few hours later to express regret that I would not be attending the family dinner tonight at my sister's.  (My lack of attendance is particularly annoying seeing as I got sick over Thanksgiving, so missed that one too.  Actually, I wonder if they thought my call was an April Fool's prank.) 

Anyway, I now recount the conversation I had with my mom:

Mom:  What's wrong?

Me:  I'm sick.

Mom:  Did you get sick in London?

Me:  No.  I got sick here.

Mom:  But all that running around London, did that catch up with you?

Me:  No.  I got sick here.

There.  A true conversational classic.  Of course, it doesn't matter at all where I got sick or why I got sick.  Only that I did, in fact, get sick.

Bring on the Nyquil!

P.S.  Hi Pam!  I'm in Los Angeles, which might explain the 10-hour flight from London.