Roman Company

My friend Bill told me a story the other day that put a smile on my face and really made me think. But before I tell you the story, let me first give you a little introduction to Bill. Bill has been a close family friend for years, due to the fact that his father and my father are best friends. In fact, my parents are his God parents, so there's really no getting rid of him (not 

that I would ever want to). Anyway, Bill is studying history and for the last few terms, has focused on ancient history and the rise and fall of the Roman Empire, which made him very excited to know someone who was going to be living on top of the ruins he was currently studying. We talked back and forth about how great it would be for him to come to Rome, and before either of us knew it, he had a plane ticket booked for Sunday, February 26th. Earlier today, my friend flew all the way from Canada to explore Rome and allow me to have some familiar company. And in exactly one week from tomorrow, my parents arrive. I could really use some friendly faces and food smuggled in from overseas, but I'm also excited to act as a personal tour guide around the Eternal City. 
My dad decided to pay a visit to Bill's house to wish him a safe flight and spend some time with him before leaving for his trip. Bill told me that he came into the house with a huge, 

heavy box and handed it over to him. "I need you to bring this," my dad said. Not wanting to be rude, Bill went along with it and agreed to bring it to me. Then my dad opened the box, and what was it that appeared inside? A rock. "Listen. She really likes this rock and has a special attachment to it, so I need you to get it to her," my dad insisted. "It'll make her feel more at home." Bill bought the entire story, and was just nodding his head and saying, "Ok..." Then my cool, creative dad picks up the rock where 60 Euros is lying underneath it and says, "How about you just take the money instead and have a nice dinner on me?" If that isn't creative thinking, then I don't know what is.
Do you recall me complaining about what its like to be sick overseas? Well, I'm not going to go into another detailed account of how I want to lay on my couch while watching Oprah with a bowl of vegetable soup, but I am going to tell you some news I received from my doctor here in Italy. I had to go see him Thursday morning because for the past week, my throat has been in severe pain. It hurt to cough, yawn, drink, sneeze, eat, etc. I've been suffering each time I attempt to eat solid food, and had trouble falling asleep due to the extreme discomfort. Every movement I made with my mouth felt like my throat was scrapping against broken glass, and every yawn felt as though my jaw was splitting in two. Not a very fun situation. 
The doctor checked me out and did the standard stick-down-the-throat bit. Italians are sometimes dramatic at the wrong times, and this was one of them. "Oh, dear... This is not good," he said. This is never something you want to hear from your doctor. Ever. I

could feel my blood pressure rising, tears stinging my eyes, and I thought he was about to tell me I have a rare throat disease that is incurable and that I should fly home to Canada immediately to write my will. What he actually told me is that I didn't have strep throat, but something a little more serious called acute purulent tonsillitis. Its a bacterial throat infection that is more painful than anything I've ever experienced in my entire life. I broke down in tears right there in his office, and I guess he felt pretty sorry for me, because he only made me pay 40 Euros when it should've costed 60 to see him. He told me that I can't go swimming or kiss anyone for a week, which is fine. So now, I have to take antibiotics for a week, as well as this spray for my throat that I have to puff into my mouth several times a day that, by the way, tastes like cheap perfume. I will be so happy when everything is healed, but until then, I'm instructed to get plenty of rest and not go out too much because I'm contagious.