I am convinced that having the flu makes one function less intelligently; a dire circumstance, gaving the low kilowattage at which I normally operate.
While going trough the rigors I had the usual fever, aches, sneezing, coughing, and honking sounds associated with influenza. I spent the time sleeping, watching tasteless television programs, and being cross. My surroundings and myself could merit being described as a 'disaster area.'
When I felt a little better, and required a visit to the pharmacie, I thought I might get some pastries and some magazines. So I kind of got dressed: no great effort, thinking that by going at that time no one other than the news-kiosk and pastry shop owners would see me. I could live with that, after a fashion. The people who see you before your coffee see you in your rawest, feral, most basic state. (No, it is not your priest, or the person who fits you for lingerie.)
I put on some tattered, don't-ever-wear-outside jeans, an exhausted old gray sweat shirt, an old coat of improper length, a scarf to hid my Medusa-like hair, and sunglasses to hide the bloodshot eyes, No makeup. After all, this was just a quick dash in and out.
Much to my horror, many people were out, and they seemed to stare at me. Why? Was I somehow indecently dressed? Did my clothes clash that much? Did I drool on my clothes while asleep? I could discover no clues. What made it worse was that I encountered several people to whom I had to exchange greetings!
It was good to get the Viennese pastries and espresso. And I got several lowbrowed gossip magazines that I hid in a folded-up copy of the newspaper.
It was only after I returned that I discovered that I went out wearing bedroom slippers!