Well, this is crap.

Seems I won't be at Amelia Island after all...

Shit.

As the fates and bacteria would have it, I came down with a really obnoxious chest/head/nascent sore throat thing on Sunday. And that after feeling fine--hell, better than fine--through our early morning bike class, cardio-sculpt class and about 20 minutes of bonus Zumba class on Saturday. And if you haven't seen me dancing (sic) around like I've been bitten by swarms of stinging insects in Zumba, you've missed something truly worthy of an old-time carnival sideshow. Probably right next to the guy who bites the heads off live chickens ["The Geek"...go ahead, look it up].

But this thing descended like the curtain at the Ford Theater the night Lincoln was shot (quick, easy trivia: What play was he watching?) and left me coughing like Old Man Finzio in The Last Open Road and drooling unsightly & likewise unseemly fluid residue from at least two holes in my face.

Went to see our husband-and-wife friends/doctoring team on Monday (I got him started doing track days in his BMW and he's pretty much hooked) and swab tests of the above-mentioned gunk proved it was definitely NOT the viral flu that's been going around OR the dreaded Coronavirus. Which, by the way, should run for office, since it's become such a powerhouse on the political front. But that's another story, isn't it?

They gave me a three-day course of some REALLY potent antibiotics so I could get over it in time to make it down to Amelia Island for the Concours, and I even pushed my plane ride and rental car off an extra day to Thursday in hopes of being all recovered and ready to go.

The good news is I feel a little better. The bad is that I'm still pretty congested, still have a bit of a sore throat and am still going on occasional, disgusting coughing jags that you would certainly not want in the seat next to you on an airplane. Or anyplace else these days, come to that. Even if I dress for the occasion: