Oh, and did I mention the moaning?

Erin is sick. Like moan-y sick. Like the kind of sick where a lifetime supply of Pepsi or season tickets to the Red Sox or winning the lottery or getting a massage from Elizabeth Mitchell can't even cheer her up.

So she went to the doctor today and it turns out she's got an abscess on her tonsil. Please, spare yourself and don't Google Image search peritonsillar abscesses. (Abscessi?) Had I not gone with her, I might not have believed the doctor's orders to "eat lots of ice cream and popsicles." That just sounds made-up, and directly in-line with Erin's way of thinking.

Except the poor girl can't even enjoy the ice cream prescription for the pain she's in. Moan-y, awful pain.

That would be like me getting explicit orders to eat tacos and then ... not being able to eat said tacos.

Tragedy.

She got excited today when I told her the doctor was about to remove her tonsils with a rusty spoon. So we're in bad shape. If the medication (and ice cream) don't work, she'll have to have the thing drained. With a needle. In the back of her throat. I have never written about our experience at the dentist, but let me just say that I might need a taco prescription if we go the way of the abscess draining. A narcotic taco prescription.

So here's hoping she heals up and there isn't a Turkey-Mashed-Potato-Stuffing-Pumpkin-Pie Smoothie in her future.