Doctor's Orders, by Heather Robinson

According to my doctor, I am in a very serious condition, but I’m not buying it. My temp was only a hundred and three this morning, and I drank a few glasses of ice water, and then it was down to 97. So there. And yes, because I know they are the most accurate, I used a mouth thermometer. Trying to catch me again, are you? I understand that one of my legs is lobster red (and it does hurt a bit), but I found one of Franny’s old powder compacts and dabbed that on and you can hardly tell. As for the throbbing, if you don’t think I know how to handle pain, you haven’t been paying attention. World War II, remember that? A few aspirins and some shots of vodka should do the trick. I’m looking outside, and it seems to be a perfect day to blow the leaves into the street, so I’ll be doing that. “Doctor’s Orders” be damned. ​