Sometimes I wish that I could just have my Momma write me a note excusing me from work the way that she could write me an excuse for school when I was younger.
She was kind of a stickler about it, though. If I wasn’t obviously on the brink of death, she would load me up with a dose of awful supplements and vitamins, make me drink some hot tea (she never let me put enough sugar in it, either), and send me on my way.
One morning when I was in middle school, I woke up feeling gross. I wasn’t really sick. I knew this and Momma knew this. I just didn’t feel good and I didn’t want to go to school. I tried to sound super congested and miserable, but she didn’t buy it for a minute.
It was winter, so I locked myself in my room and put my head over the vent, making sure that the heated air was blowing directly in my face. About five minutes later I moped out of my room with my head hung low and told Momma I thought I had a fever. After (not so gently) feeling my forehead, she begrudgingly admitted that I, indeed, was very warm and that there was a possibility that I was actually sick.
When I heard her digging around for the thermometer in the medicine cabinet, I knew that I had a shot of winning the battle at hand.
See, Momma refused to invest in one of those new-fangled digital thermometers. She only trusted the old-school models that were made of glass, had a metal tip, and were filled with mercury.
She put the thermometer under my tongue, instructed me to not leave the kitchen until she came back, and went to start a load of laundry.
For once in my life, I was thankful that Momma thought hot tea could solve the problems of the world. Because right before she jammed the thermometer (again, not so gently) under my tongue, she had placed a cup of steaming hot tea in front of me.
Laughing on the inside, I held the thermometer in the cup of tea until I heard Momma’s footsteps heading my way. I quickly put it back under my tongue and did everything in my power to look absolutely pitiful.
I thought that the thermometer felt kind of funny, but I didn’t really have time to process that. I just wanted Momma to hurry up and look at it and see that I actually was running a high fever.
She removed the thermometer from my mouth and held it up at a certain angle so that she could get an accurate reading. It seemed to be taking forever, so I continued to sip on my hot tea as I waited for her to see that I, in fact, was quite sick.
In my head canon, I knew that she would beg for forgiveness for doubting me and cater to my every need for the rest of the day.
Instead, her features were taken over by a look of confusion. There was a little bit of fear mixed in there, too.
(Please use a thick German accent while reading the italicized words in order to experience the full effect.)
Momma: Jessie! What the hell did you do?
Me (still sipping my tea): What are you talking about Momma? I told you I don’t feel good. Is my temperature really, really high or something? Maybe I’m just really sick.
Momma: Surely not even you're this idiotic. Surely not.
She then grabbed my face and forced me to open my mouth, screaming at me to lift up my tongue. I’m not sure I had ever been so befuddled in my life.
Then I saw the thermometer… with its tip completely broken off.
Turns out that it isn’t a good idea to a stick a cold glass thermometer in a cup of really, really hot tea.
Turns out that the thermometer will break, and the contents inside of it will slide right on out of that joker.
Turns out that I drank about half a cup of tea that had a pea-sized ball of mercury in the bottom of it.
Momma (after hitting the speed-dial for poison control): Yes, this is Christine Grady again. No, this time it’s Jessie… What are the signs of mercury poisoning?
Don’t try to fool a thermometer. It isn’t worth it.
Good day, all. Good day.
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