STRANGER THAN FICTION: ACHES AND PAINS AND UNMENTIONALBE VIRUSES, O MY!

Nothing ruins a barbecue like stomach sounds louder than a Metallica concert.

Florida is killing me.

Don't get me wrong. I love certain things about this state. It has a lot of newspapers and thus newspaper jobs. The Gulf Coast beaches are the most beautiful in the world. And the moderate winters -- forgeddaboutit, as Donnie Brasco would say.

Then there's the downside. This state is like a large petri dish.

The evidence: In my 11 years as a taxpaying citizen of Missouri, I took five sick days. Two of those were legitimate. Part of that was because my body has an uncanny knack for breaking down on weekends and during vacations, but my health was most excellent in general.

In my 15 months as a Floridian, I've taken four sick days and probably should have taken a fifth last week. All of them were legit. With my recent run of illnesses, I'm afraid to waste any of my seven sick days a year just to watch "Jerry Springer," although the episodes featuring pre-operative transsexual love slaves are MOST entertaining.

The problem here is that we never have a good, week-long Missouri freeze to kill all the creepy-crawlies out there waiting to ruin a perfectly healthy body.

And one of the little bastards got me last week.

It came right after my three-slice Papa John's lunch, which, as far as I'm concerned, is haute cuisine, especially if you consider that exquisite garlic butter dipping sauce. At first, I wanted to blame the pizza, but The Other Half ate from the same pizza and experienced the relaxing afterglow I usually have.

My illness never got bad enough to make me miss work. It was just one of those deals where being close to a restroom at all times was the best policy. In fact, I'd say it was an uneasy, queasy, somethin'-just-ain't-right feeling. And couldn't THAT phrase be the basis of one heck of a good country-western song? ("I've got that uneasy, queasy, somethin'-just-ain't-right feeling a-gin!")

But I adopted my mother's strategy for dealing with illness: Ignore it and it will go away. In fact, work harder than you normally would just to show that virus WHO'S BOSS!

So of course I couldn't miss the Saturday night barbecue I'd been looking forward to all week. I headed over to my friend's house with a bottle of wine, which even carries a Biblical endorsement for making the stomach feel better.

I don't know how things worked in the apostles' day, but that white zinfandel didn't do anything for me. My stomach started making sounds that I know could be heard over the steady rumbling of party conversation. Luckily, my friends were nice enough to ignore it.

John: So, Heidi, what did you think about Paula Jones' decision to appeal?

Heidi's Stomach: GGGGRRRRRRROOOWWWRRRRR!

John: That's so true. I don't think she'll have any success, either.

After desecrating the host's two bathrooms, I figured it was time to go home.

The Other Half is the nicest person in the world to have around when I'm sick. He brings me crackers and beverages that never had it, never will. And he did the housework while I battled a virus that resulted in the loss of 10 pounds.

And then he took me to the doughnut shop to celebrate. What a man!

~Heidi Nieland is a former Southeast Missourian staff member who lives in Pensacola, Fla.