I've never played Chicken. Call me crazy, but I just don't feel the need to risk life and limb for the sake of an adrenaline rush.
Especially since all it takes is for my phone to ring for me to get all wound up.
There's nothing that gets your blood flowing quite like a call from the school nurse, is there? "I have Alexis in my office. She says she has a tummy ache and she has a bit of a fever."
I got the call just as the venti-sized dose of caffeine I had chugged started to take effect. ZOOOOOM!ZOOOOOMY! ZOOOOOOMMMM! You could have peeled me off of the ceiling at that moment, except that I was hiding under my desk and trying very hard not to move a muscle. It was a game of Chicken, and I was not going to flinch.
So ... crickets. That's what the School Nurse heard on the phone.
I didn't dare respond to the news because I knew the School Nurse was busy judging me. Is it better to be That Parent who says, "Tell her to suck it up and call me if she gets worse?" Or is it better to be That Parent who drops everything and rescues their kid from the dungeon-like sick room?
I DON'T KNOW.
I'M VERY NOT EXPERIENCED AT THIS.
I REALLY JUST DIDN'T WANT PUKE ON MY SHOES.
There. I said it. The whole "tummy ache" thing had me thoroughly questioning everything including the reason the sky is blue. I bet it's blue because the clouds get sad when parents wind up with puke on their shoes. I know I get sad when it happens.
And I know that Alexis can make herself throw up if she thinks about it long enough. She doesn't need to be sick AT ALL. She just possesses magical bulimia powers and always has. Don't even think about mentioning puke around her because she will get obsessed with the idea and will prove that I'm right about this whole voluntary puker thing. Make sure you're wearing rainboots.
"What would you like to do?" the nurse cut through my racing thoughts and demanded some sort of response to her description of the situation.
Clearly she didn't understand that if there was going to be puking on shoes, I really wanted it to be over with before I was within ten miles of the kid.
CHICKEN.
DO I DARE LEAVE HER THERE?
DO I DARE PICK HER UP?
WHAT DO I DOOOOOOOOOO?
The thoughts circled my mind like a racecar at Daytona. Zoooooooom!
I flinched. I picked the kid up, and then was treated to a day of her being OBVIOUSLY fine. Not sick. Not even a little bit. I'm thinking that "little bit of a fever" was because the kid spent a few seconds too long thinking about how much she luuuurves Justin Bieber.
I definitely lost this round of Chicken, but I have learned much and will do better next time. Maybe.
