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When he did reading work this morning, Marcus said he wanted cough drops. I thought he was faking.

When I drove Rebecca to gymnastics, he slept in the car. I thought the weekend might have tired him out.

When I drove to the bank to make a deposit, he sat quietly in the lobby and didn’t make a peep. I thought he was running a temperature and might have a bug.

When we stopped to get him cough syrup, he rode in the shopping cart. I thought he might have a bigger bug and bought flu-specific Triaminic.

When we walked in the door, he made a beeline for the bathroom and almost but not quite made it to the toilet before vomiting profusely. I hate being right 25% of the time.