The Boogiewife is home sick, and we can be sure it's not because she ate something in the fridge that went past its expiration date. She monitors the fridge like a minor league umpire watches the obituaries for the deaths of his corpulent superiors.

No, doctors don't know what laid the 'Train low. But I trace it back to Sunday, when apropos of nothing, she took my iPod and tried to rock out like one of those black-and-pastel silhouette commercials. Stomping around the apartment to George Harrison's "What Is Life" and then collapsed on the couch.

But the woman is tender and prone to spells of sickness, and I fear she may have just rocked out too hard. Hopefully a day of Tivo and perogies will revive her. Because now she's just stumbling around in a blue robe, wearing her Robocop glasses, and messing up my legendary levels of productivity.