Monkey shuffled into my room this morning and scaled my body in a single fluid movement, parking himself on my hip and tucking his head into the crook of my neck.
“How’s my baby?” I asked him, while brushing my lips across his (still warm) forehead.
“Well, I’m sort of okay, but there’s something wrong with the lid to my mouth,” he informed me.
“Ummmm… the what of your mouth?”
“The lid. I was thirsty and I tried to drink some water but the lid of my mouth sort of hurts and wouldn’t let the water down,” he clarified.
“Oh, I see. Does your throat hurt?”
“No, just the lid is sort of spikey.”
Well then. It’s not a sore throat, it’s a spikey lid. Monkey Fever is a complicated ailment.