Cursing the evil co-workers who had given me the flu, I lay in bed nursing an orange juice cocktail. The cool liquid soothed my aching throat, even if I couldn’t taste any of it. Possible suspects whirled through my mind. Who had done it?

Who had transmitted this nasty virus? What cube farm denizen could be so thoughtless, so malicious? Was it Typhoid Jane? Typhoid Ron? The list was long and distinguished. I despaired of ever finding out the truth. Of making them pay.

Suddenly, my vindictive thoughts were cast aside as my bedroom door opened and the most sensual man I had ever seen appeared before me. I could have sworn he looked like Michael. Was this live or was this Memorex? Had my delirium cast me into such an altered state that La Femme Nikita characters were inhabiting my inner sanctum? Did I really care?

After further consideration on the matter (oh, about a nanosecond’s worth), I decided not. Who knew Tylenol was a hallucinogen? Certainly not me.

He came to stand beside my bed, tenderly setting my drink aside and pulling the covers up to my chin.

"Don’t worry, Caroline." He said. "I’m here to make you feel better. The gang sent me."

The gang? It wasn’t enough for them to make me sick, they had to send Michael to nurse me when I was too weak and disoriented to tackle him and chain him to my bedpost? They truly were evil.

He watched me as though he could read my mind, then replied. "No, not those bureaucrats you work with, your friends from the Round Robin board."

I perked up immediately. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Here, they asked me to bring you a care package. Some bunny slippers so your feet won’t get cold, a bag of cheesy poofs, some goldfish and a bottle of red Kool-Aid. They promise to write more soon so you’ll have something to read while you are convalescing," He paused, then reached in to his jacket and pulled out a book of French poetry. "They mentioned that you like poetry, so I thought you might like for me to read to you while you rest."

Suddenly, I felt warm and fuzzy all over, and it wasn’t due to my temperature. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to be lulled to sleep by the melodic sound of his voice.

When I awoke later, he was gone. The only evidence of his presence a trail of orange cheesy poof dust ground into my carpet. Sighing, I curled up into a contented little ball and went back to sleep, my last coherent thought that I should take Tylenol more regularly.

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