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Woke up this morning with a sore throat. But, you know, it's a sore throat. Hardly a tragedy. Certainly I am capable of getting through today in my desk chair. No one else cares how much it hurts to swallow—or that I'm rolling with the raspy whisper of a supervillain in the first round of her death throes. Anyway, I pulled up my big girl pants, juiced myself a vitamin cocktail with a butt-ton of ginger, grabbed a box of Throat Comfort and commuted.

First thing, my boss comes into my cubby—face contorted into all sorts of snotty—and says,

"What is WRONG with you? I feel like you're always getting sick. Clearly you need to start taking better care of yourself."

Okay, She-Beast.

First of all, aside from a run-in with some unfortunate felafel, my last sick day was in January.

Second of all, I juice kale for breakfast every morning.

So you can kiss my lily-white Irish you know what.