Yup, you guessed it: I'm making that chicken soup that I wanted so desperately yesterday. Driving twelve hours with your head feeling like it's on the verge of explosion and an on-fire throat was not fun. But the radio show was worth every second of the trip. And my voice held up all right, all things considered.
Still, I never got my soup.
Today is about 24 degrees in Boston, and windy enough to make it feel about 10 in the sun, and I'm still sick, so right now I have a pot of homemade chicken noodle simmering on the stove.
(Okay, quick aside? Chicken soup with rice is FAR inferior to chicken noodle soup. I'm sorry, but it's just a fact.)
I hate Sundays. Even more than sneezing. But I do like chicken noodle soup.
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