STRANGER THAN FICTION: PUTTING PRIDE ASIDE AT THE GROCERY STORE

There are times when you pray not to run into your friends.

There's an American Express commercial out right now that features Jerry Seinfeld buying all manner of embarrassing items at the pharmacy without batting an eye.

The man stole my material.

Last week, that was my life.

It set in about Tuesday -- that not-quite-right feeling after meals, that general achiness, that noise from the depths of your belly as your dinner digests.

I stopped by my boss' desk on the way out of work.

"I'm getting the stomach flu," I said.

She didn't look up. "Too bad. Well, see you tomorrow!"

That's a boss' way of saying, "Show up for work or else." So I called in sick on Thursday instead of Wednesday.

It had turned into that gross illness where you can't get 10 feet from the restroom without serious repercussions. Let's take a vote right now. Flu-wise, what's worse? The head-and-chest stuff or the stomach-and-bowel stuff? I'll bet nine of the 10 of you just cast your vote for stomach-and-bowel. It is the absolute worst.

In fact, the only thing worse than the stomach flu is buying the items you need to treat it. By noon, The Other Half was totally out of nursing mode. Typical male. He brings home a two-liter bottle of Sprite and thinks he's Patch Adams.

I hoped for the best and ran to the corner pharmacy. There, I determined the most embarrassing combination of medicine ever purchased: Tucks pads, Immodium A-D, extra-soft toilet paper with aloe and Maalox. The clerk wouldn't even look at me as he rang up the items.

Thank heavens it wasn't the girl who feels compelled to comment on everything else I buy in there. Like with the pregnancy test. "HOW DO YOU WANT IT TO TURN OUT?" she yelled. I can't even imagine what she would have said about the extra-soft toilet paper.

(I'm having random musings. Here are some other embarrassing combinations: sanitary napkins, anti-acne lotion, and chocolate bars; Odor-Eaters, pumice stone and anti-fungal spray; "How Stella Got Her Groove Back," the latest issue of Glamour magazine and a container of Ben & Jerry's.)

Of course, Mr. Half came down with the same illness the next day, which meant my battle with it was over. It HAD to be, to take care of him. And, of course, he didn't leave the couch until Sunday.

"Could you open the window?"

"Could you close the window?"

"Could I have another blanket?"

"Could you get me some juice?...I wanted GRAPE juice!"

"Could you turn on the fan?"

"Could you make me some toast? WHEAT toast."

So you can imagine my chagrin when I had the most nightmarish conversation after running into Mr. Half's boss on Sunday.

"Heh, heh. Your husband had a pretty good thing going, taking off on Friday like that," the boss said. "Sunny day, and he was off."

"Well, sir," I replied. "I'm sure he wished he was well and at work instead of terribly sick and at home."

He gave me a vacant look. "Yep, pretty good thing going, there."

Which supports my theory that no boss ever believes an employee is really sick. I should have just said, "Yes, sir, it's all part of my husband's plan to poop his way onto the welfare rolls."

Except that I like having Mr. Half employed.

We're both healthy for the first time in a week now. What's better, I weigh five pounds less than last week.

So that whole "silver lining" thing is true after all.

~Heidi Nieland is a former staff writer for the Southeast Missourian who now lives in Pensacola, Fla.